


Vows

by WishingStarInAJar



Series: Fragments [3]
Category: Original Work, Wakfu
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fan Characters, Gen, General fiction, Literature, Original Character(s), Tragedy, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 81,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingStarInAJar/pseuds/WishingStarInAJar
Summary: The sequel to Traces.Marriage is sacred, so the people say, but is it worth the sacrifices made? To bolster a future for her people in the World of Twelve, Alys indulges Brakmar's bold request for her hand to grant the nation and Eliatropes a strong allegiance, but most of all, power. But while wedding bells should chime in cheer, it instead lures in a new threat whose crusade is thirsty for justice and revenge.





	1. The Messenger

**Author's Note:**

> ( **DISCLAIMER:**  This story takes place in an alternative universe of Wakfu consisting out of original and canon characters. Contains spoilers about the show and related!)

Paperwork. There was plenty of it. The smell of ink and candlewax mixed nicely with the scents of paper and herb tea, making the task at hand less of an antagonizing chore. The company wasn’t half bad either; Master Bestor had plenty of remarks to make and little things to share and tell but the Ouginak’s talks about events from the world outside of the office made Joris Jurgen long for adventure rather than read or answer letters sent to the royal court.

His life was all but dull. For centuries he had rolled from one adventure into another but he had seen much and it became more and more difficult to be enticed. The stack of envelopes and parchments on the table before him only made that truth more clear and it was a hard pill to swallow. He was bored, as simple as that and this day spent in the office only made that feeling worse. While Bestor rambled on about the parlor he likes to visit in one of Bonta’s many harbor pubs, Joris’ mind wandered to more exciting times.

How long ago was it? Almost a year, surely.

It was quite an adventure with the Brotherhood of the Tofu, Justice Knight and the female Eliatrope ambassador. It was one of those things he didn’t imagine to experience in his life but he was sucked right into chasing after the Protector of Javian, an old champion of Bonta; Jiva. When she kidnapped the Eliatrope infant Chibi and his draconic twin and wanted to exchange them for the six Eliatrope Dofus, who would have guessed it would kickstart an epic journey to the uninhabitable island of Zinit, the Eliatropes' grounded vessel and the hidden dimension of Emrub? He sure didn’t.

The journey had been educational with information about this world, its history and its connection to the elusive Eliatrope people, but he also learned more about those he considered enemies, friends or allies. Bonds were forged or made stronger with the experiences he shared; a reassuring thought as the whole adventure was a mess, no matter thrilling. At least he thought back to it fondly and it only made him eager for the next adventure, whenever it would happen. Hopefully soon, before these letters would kill him with boredom.

Joris released a small sigh as he reminded himself of the work he had to do. The life of being a royal messenger and a representative of a powerful nation was splendorous indeed… He wasn’t impressed by his own sarcasm as he reached for the desk to fish another letter from it, the want for the day to be over growing heavier by the minute. Perhaps he could do something later to bring a kick back into his life.

It was easy to be distracted while boredom was breathing down his neck. His attention dropped like a brick when Bestor rose from his chair and audibly stretched with a grunt, his joints popping. “This is quite a mental workout, isn’t it?” the Ouginak asked while he reached into his vest and wandered through the office towards the window, humming a little tune until he got what he was looking for. “Do you mind?” He tilted the pipe he held in his paw while his floppy ears rose a little to accompany his smile, his eyes and attention on the small master to get his approval.

Joris shook his head after he eyed the pipe,” no, go ahead.”

Bestor opened the window before he once more reached into his vest to prepare his pipe with some tobacco and light a match, taking his time with it to enjoy the little break he decided to take. He watched the view of the city as he puffed on the pipe to allow the match’s flame to light the tobacco, seeming to be in his own little world until his ears perked up with his fuzzy eyebrows and furry mustache and he tilted his head a little curiously. Something was happening in the courtyard of the palace. He watched a little longer while he dragged on his pipe with a few quick puffs before flicking the extinguished match out of the window. “It seems the king has visitors.”

His mumbling was clear enough to be heard by Joris and cause him to look up from the letter he held, observing the Ouginak and the smoke which escaped from his wet black nose. Visitors? Such was nothing out of the ordinary but the fact the Ouginak mentioned it aloud was a little peculiar. He slipped off his chair when Bestor glanced his way and beckoned him over with a sideward tilt of his head, the Terrier’s attention returning to the outside world and the taste of his tobacco.

Red, black, and gold. Joris’ eyes narrowed after he got onto the windowsill and peered into the courtyard below, seeing the visitors Bestor mentioned. The color palettes were foreboding indeed, belonging to Bonta’s rival nation. It was but a small group donned in Brakmar’s colors but no matter the numbers, it was concerning to learn Brakmar had sent someone.

“Oliver is going to have his hands full with that lot,” Bestor smirked after the Lord Chamberlain of the Bontarian king appeared in the courtyard to greet the visitors and have them state their business, intrigued by what may unfold. “I wonder who they are. Four soldiers and two diplomats, maybe?” he asked before arching a brow as Joris retreated back to his chair rather than watch with him,” at least it isn’t His Royal Highness himself.”

“I reckon we will find out soon enough.”

Bestor looked back outside when Joris hinted on patience instead of assuming, both guessing they would learn about the visitors’ identities and reasons for coming to Bonta eventually. Bestor was a part of Theron Sheran Sharm’s council while Joris was the king’s faithful advisor and a representative of this very nation. They would get involved, some way or another and perhaps sooner than expected. 

The tobacco in Bestor’s pipe wasn’t even close to being used up when a knocking on the door sounded and the door handle turned, the white-haired and pompous looking chamberlain soon appearing in the doorway. He stood with his nose pointed upward as he took in the office space before his expression grew a little anxious after he caught sight of the small master seated by the desk. “I’m pleased to find you where you are supposed to be, Joris, rather than needing to chase after you through the whole palace,” he said as he crossed the threshold with a sweeping stride, keeping his composure quite well even though he sounded like he was in a hurry.

“Oliver, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Enutrof rapidly tapped trice against the top of the desk with his short scepter to claim Joris’ attention when the master didn’t look up from the letter he was reading, knowing full well Joris didn’t always take him seriously due to his strict nature and stiffness. “I need your assistance with an urgent matter, immediately,” Oliver explained after he finally met the master’s gaze hidden within the shadow of his hood,” I have two unannounced envoys of the Brakmarian royal court buzzing around the palace and I refuse to bring them before His Majesty until absolute safety is assured.”

Bestor left the view and sunlight behind to walk over towards the desk and have a seat on one of the corners to lean into the conversation, his pipe clenched between his teeth. “Two envoys is quite a number for Brakmar,” he added, stating the obvious.

“Precisely,” Oliver huffed,” and the fact they have an armed escort is not to be taken lightly. I, therefore, ask of you to inquire these envoys about the reason behind their visit so I can properly arrange an audience for them with Theron. Can I entrust this to you, Joris?”

“Of course.” Joris nodded, fairly used to handling visitors in such ways. Besides, he was no stranger to interactions with Brakmar, having dealt with their politics and woes many times before. It is quite possible he has met these two envoys before. He tugged on his mantle to be decent after he got off the chair and signaled for the chamberlain to lead him to the visitors, the raising of Bestor’s pipe a quiet wishing of good luck after Joris glanced his way to see what he would do. He wasn’t invited and he would therefore continue working, as boring as it was to do such on his own.

Oliver was quick to traverse the halls after Joris followed him out of the office, a hurry present in his step. He didn’t seem worried but he obviously wanted this to be dealt with quickly. The last time Brakmar visited Bonta was a downright mess and an enormous pressure on the palace staff. It even ended in disaster with the whole assassination attempt, if it were true.* The word of the Brakmarian prince was at times questionable with his proneness to overreact.

Joris soon enough entered a side room in which Oliver had herded the visitors, coming face to face with the envoys the chamberlain was eager to dump on him. He frowned ever so slightly when he didn’t recognize the one who turned to him the moment he appeared in the doorway and entered the room, their gazes meeting shortly. 

Her eyes were as golden as the shoulder armor, belt buckle and the high heels of the tall boots she wore but surely not as warm in tone. The look in her eyes was sharp and judgmental when she looked the master up and down, obviously not impressed by what she saw if the narrowing of her eyes, the raising of a nostril and the crinkle it caused across her petite nose were any indication. Not an all too surprising reaction when Brakmar was involved, even on Bontarian soil.

With the Brakmarian woman was a man, his face hidden behind a gold trimmed white mask which completely covered his face, only giving away a faint hint of his eyes. His brown wavy hair was slickly tied back into a ponytail but his natural curl was rebellious and refused to stay in place, a few strands doing as they pleased. While his female companion was dressed in various hues of red and brown, he was dressed in mostly black, a cloak draped around his shoulders.

He looked familiar, or so Joris thought to himself after he examined the envoys, trying to recall where he may have seen this Brakmarian before. He was no Rogue, no… His mask was special, like that of the rare Masqueraiders which linger on the brink of extinction, but a little fancier. It was surprising to meet a Masqueraider, let alone one in service of Brakmar. Didn’t he chase this man across the rooftops after he caused havoc in the Bontarian throne room almost two years ago, or was it someone else? He had to withhold his suspicions for now but he wouldn’t ignore them either.

The tension in the room was heavy but Joris was the one to break it with a quiet and not fully meant “good morning” before he closed the distance between himself and the visitors, the four Brakmarian soldiers in the back of the room not intimidating him. The tall woman and her slightly shorter companion straightened their backs to witness his approach, not uttering a word. “I am Joris Jurgen, advisor to His Majesty Theron Sheran Sharm. I am meeting you on his behalf until your intentions are made clear.”

“Yes… the famed Master Jurgen,” the woman with blood red lips said while she looked down at him with the same expression as before,” what an honor.” She didn’t make an attempt to hide her sarcasm but she was quick to bury it by adding her own introduction,” I am Timinne Lecreft, in service of House Rosessen and its Pasdevillet militia, and I am here on behalf of His Royal Highness, Prince Ernaldus of Brakmar**.”

The Pasdevillet militia. He heard of them before; their ranks mostly consisted of Brakmar loyalists and were known for their extreme measures and views. It explained her stuck-up behavior… Not that it excused it but Joris would be the better man and brush it off rather than make a remark about it. “And your companion?”

Timinne shrugged when she and the Masqueraider simultaneously looked at each other after Joris asked about the masked man. “He’s a royal messenger I got saddled up with,” she said with a neutral expression before she turned her attention back to Joris,” he doesn’t talk much, but His Royal Highness trusts him well enough. It will suffice for this meeting.”

No name then? Joris narrowed his eyes a little as suspicions rose before he asked,” and what news do you bring from your Liege?” 

“Not news,” she said before she snapped her black leather clad fingers and gestured towards the Masqueraider with a beckoning of a finger before he took a parchment from within his cloak. “Negotiations,” Timinne continued when the parchment was handed over to Joris, the piece of rolled up paper held together with a red silk ribbon and a wax royal seal of almost the same color.

Negotiations? Joris didn’t show his reluctance when he accepted the parchment, but there was no denying it was present. That Brakmar wished to negotiate something after a year of silence was not a good omen… What could it possibly be about? Resources? The truce? He broke the wax seal to unroll the long piece of paper before he began reading the fancy lettered writing, taking it slow to not accidentally skip anything and allowing the message to sink in.

The two envoys watched closely and in silence, neither having much luck with reading the master’s reaction. The shadow of his hood concealed his face well while his small body was still. There was a light quiver, however, the white tufts which sprang up from the sides of his hood trembling ever so slightly as if he was suddenly tense or tightly wound while reading the parchment. The paper slipped through his fingers as he brought his attention back to the beginning of the writing and read it once more, though faster this time and a little rushed.

There was a long and heavy silence after he reached the end of the text a second time, his eyes resting on the signature of the Brakmarian prince before he looked up to the two envoys, Timinne in particular. The look in his eyes had hardened, a seriousness having washed over him. “I will have to discuss this matter with the king before any negotiations can continue,” he said with a rougher voice than usual, his eyes no longer visible as he had intentionally tilted his head down though Timinne could feel them burn on her,” these are unusual terms, not to mention peculiar.”

“I am aware,” she admitted,” His Royal Highness and his council will allow the time for any preparations or discussions needed to hold these negotiations, but a word of caution… Ernaldus isn’t known for his patience, and neither am I.”

Joris knew about the prince’s impatience all too well but he didn’t have much care for it at the very moment, having other worries pressing down on him. He allowed the parchment to roll itself up before he left the room without a word said and turned to one of the guards posted in the hallway, lingering on the threshold. “Take Miss Lecreft and her envoy to the guest quarters and see to their needs,” he instructed the guard before he glanced back over a shoulder and locked eyes with the female visitor to speak to her,” Bonta may be able to join the negotiations before the day is over but I cannot answer for the other party involved. We will keep you up to date on any changes in circumstances but I suggest you make yourself comfortable in the meantime. You may be here longer than expected.”

A sound of annoyance escaped Timinne as she looked away with a following sigh before she dismissively wove with her left hand towards the master. “Very well,” she said with held back frustration, not wishing to stay for longer than needed in Bonta but it seemed she wasn’t that lucky,” I hope your reputation of being fast does not disappoint.” 

He couldn’t withhold on glaring at the black haired woman but was wise enough to hide it from her or anyone else present. He abruptly turned on a heel and left the room without a proper or respectful goodbye, leaving the Brakmarian envoys in the care of the guards while he would attend to more pressing matters than the woman’s discontentment. His mind was racing, his senses dulling as if he was inside a fishbowl; the world around him was suddenly distant and hollow.

His composure dropped once he rounded a few corners and was by himself in a long corridor, his hurried pace slowing down. He stood still for a moment before the crinkling of paper chased the pressing silence away. His small hands tightly clenched into fists and frumpled the parchment, its written contents the cause of the flaring anger he felt burning in his chest and behind his eyes. It was an anger he barely managed to hide from the aggravating visitor after he read the message, the struggle to keep his composure having tested his resolve. 

The side of one of his fists met the wall with a cushioned thud as he lashed out with a lowered head and bared teeth, hitting the wall hard before he ground his fist firmer against the stone, the pain not bothering him.

Brakmar had grown bold and decided to involve Bonta in matters Joris wanted absolutely no part in. They _dared_ and he was supposed to swallow and quietly accept this revolting idiocy? _Preposterous_!... But he knew it to be true, he knew he had to accept this as part of his duties and take it as it would come, no matter that he didn’t wish for it. He was aware of what was at stake if he didn’t oblige and he was certain his king knew of the consequences as well. There was no backing out of what Brakmar started… and it made the master’s blood boil. 

Curse that nation to bits.

\--------------------~*~--------------------

“He dodges the blocker!”

The ecstatically loud voice echoed over the golden grain fields, the backyard of the Crunchy Gobball inn having turned into a small Gobbowl field with only two players. Yugo, the young Eliatrope king, was circling around Adamaï while holding a small homemade Gobbowl ball behind his back, trying to keep it away from the dragon. It was a friendly match between two brothers, though neither was truly playing according to the rules, the use of Zaaps and shapeshifting tolerated and allowed.

Their audience was their little brother Chibi, the toddler sitting on a blanket in the grass with a few toys surrounding him. The toys held no interest for him, his large brown eyes glued on the game his older brothers were playing as he intently watched the soft looking ball while suckling on two of his fingers. 

The Eliatrope children were so enthralled by the imaginary match that they didn’t take notice of someone entering the village of Emelka and make their way to the inn Yugo and his siblings called home, which was a pity indeed because the young king had grown to respect and admire the visitor dressed in blue.

Joris climbed the steps of the elevated patio of the inn while he took in the surroundings, his wooden mallet resting over his shoulder and across his back. He approached the inn’s entrance with a certain caution, finding but a few guests to be present while they enjoyed a meal or a drink. He didn’t pay them any heed, instead searching for someone in particular. He soon found him, the man with a hunched back and a thick long mustache serving a customer with a broad smile. He didn’t notice Joris at first but when he did, his eyes grew with the high raising of his brows.

“Master Joris.” Alibert sounded baffled to see the Bontarian master in his humble abode, not having been told about him coming by today. An unexpected visit perhaps? “What a surprise. Can I offer you anything?” He towered over Joris with a welcoming smile after he walked over to meet him, almost beaming. He rather not think ill of Joris’ sudden appearance or assume his reasons for visiting were of the darker sort, having nothing but respect for the small master. His children were fond of him, one more than the others and a visit from Joris was long overdue; he was happy to see him.

“My thanks, Alibert, but I will have to decline. Another time perhaps.” The tone in Joris’ voice was weary and caused Alibert’s smile to waver ever so slightly. “I, unfortunately, do not have the time to stay longer than necessary. I wish to speak with Yugo, Adamaï, and Alys; there’s is something of great importance which needs to be discussed. I believe I heard your sons playing outside so I do not need to ask if they are present. Alys, however…”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Alibert said after Joris subtly inquired about her whereabouts and pointed with a thumb to an open doorway in the back of the room, his eyebrows somewhat furrowed. If Joris wanted to talk with those three in particular then his visit was indeed not as good or casual as Alibert had hoped for,” go on in if you like.”

Joris nodded in thanks before he brushed past the Enutrof and made his way over to the kitchen, hearing the clattering of wooden dishes and soft talking. It pleased him to know Alys was where he hoped her to be. It would have greatly complicated the matter at hand if she was attending to her duties elsewhere and he had to go look for her. He didn’t praise his stroke of luck, though… His confidence began to waver when he entered the kitchen, the mallet he carried suddenly feeling far heavier than usual. He truly didn’t wish to be here, not like this.

He easily spotted her standing by the sink with her back turned towards him, a dragon whelp sitting perched on her shoulder. She was having a one-sided conversation with the young Grougaloragran while doing the dishes and watched the boys play outside through the window in front of her, the tone of her voice calm and natural. 

Joris was about to make his presence known with a soft clearing of his throat when Grougaloragran suddenly snorted, huffed and sneezed while clinging onto the Eliatrope’s shoulder to not fall off, his pointy wings rapidly flapping. The little dragon frantically wriggled his snout and furiously rubbed it with a disgruntled grumbling after Alys playfully blew some of the bubbly foam at him. She softly laughed when another adorable sneeze escaped him before she apologetically but gently nudged him with the side of her head, though Grougal wasn’t fully amused as he vocally pouted with a small snarl. He turned himself around on her shoulder to take off though remained put when his large round eyes spotted the small master. They stared at each other for what were but a few seconds until Grougaloragran hissed at Joris, sounding agitated but he didn’t engage.

Alys frowned at the sudden change in the dragon’s behavior before noticing he wasn’t hissing at her but at something or someone else behind her. She turned her head to look over her shoulder and past the whelp to find Joris slowly setting his mallet down to not pose a threat to Grougal, the master not wanting another faceful of fire from the dragon’s fiery breath. “Joris?” She quietly uttered his name and blinked with her round eyes which were full of wonder and mild confusion, obviously surprised to see him.

He smiled at her while keeping an eye on the agitated dragon which sat protectively on the Eliatrope’s shoulder, the small creature not seeming to be pleased with his presence in the kitchen. He nodded to confirm he was truly there after Alys sounded uncertain and said in light jest,” an ambassador doing the dishes while charming a dragon. Now I have truly seen everything.”

Alys quickly retracted her hands from the warm soapy water after Joris made her self-aware, an embarrassed chuckle leaving her. “It was my turn,” she explained while she nervously wiped her hands off on her robes and tried not to fall victim to becoming bashful, not certain how exactly to react to Joris’ sudden appearance. It had been a while since last she saw him... Her smile and the reddening of her cheeks remained when she glanced at the growling whelp, giving him another gentle nudge with her cheek,” be nice, you know Joris means no harm. Why don’t you go to Chibi instead and play a little?”

Grougaloragran huffed in defiance to not be told what to do, stubbornly perched on her shoulder with a grumbling which was rather adorable instead of menacing. It faded the longer he was watched and waited on by the two ambassadors, his confidence shrinking as his annoyance grew. He dove off her shoulder with a single beating of his wings to not stay a second longer, flying into the yard through the open back door and homing in on the Gobbowl ball which spun through the air after Adamaï tossed it.

“I’m sorry, he still has his jealous streaks and anger issues,” Alys said before she visibly cringed when a ruckus erupted outside after Grougal took his frustrations out on the ball, his older brothers shouting at him to let go while Chibi could be heard crying with laughter. The female Eliatrope pulled a face while she listened to her little brothers arguing, snarling and laughing, a little embarrassed by the outcome of sending Grougal off and Joris witnessing it. She gave him a small smile before she reached for her long sleeve-like gloves to put them on, saying while she slipped an arm through and pulled the glove up,” it’s good to see you again…”    

“Likewise.” He sounded sincere and he was, but truth be told… He had rather not seen her again. “You are looking well,” he continued, internally lecturing himself for not bringing up his reason for coming to Emelka. He was stalling and struggling to do what he set out to do, which frustrated him to no end. He wasn’t here willingly and it felt incredibly wrong.

Her smile grew softer after he slid a compliment her way and cloaked his dismay fairly well, his words and presence calming her nerves a little. “Thank you,” she said as she lingered by the sink, curious as to why Joris came by for a visit. It wasn’t often Joris would come to Emelka. Did he come to see her or was there a more political reason behind him standing in this kitchen? The boys’ birthday wasn’t for another few months and she visited Bonta not too long ago to check on her Dofus and her slumbering brother. To think he missed her and wanted to see her felt a little out of character for the master, or maybe she just didn’t dare to think such could be true. Her own thoughts were messing with her and it made her blush unintentionally.

While Alys tried to guess the reasons, Joris was wavering the more he watched her little reactions. He took a deep breath to remind himself he had a duty attend to, no matter the complications or personal involvements. He lay a hand on the wooden mallet beside him before he said with a formal tone in his voice,” I come with bad news, Alys. His Majesty Theron Sheran Sharm requests the presence of Yugo, Adamaï and yourself in Bonta… especially you.” He paused to stop himself from going into deeper detail and from balling his hand into a fist. “I have been asked to not discuss the matter until you are safely within the borders of Bonta. It is a very delicate situation and needs to be handled with utmost care. I hope you understand…”

She was quiet after she listened to him, the smile she held before now gone from sight. She seemed thoughtful and worried but spoke clearly and without hesitation after she gave Joris a nod,” if your king requests for our presence then we will comply.” Her trust in the master was unbreakable; if he couldn’t discuss something with her until a later point then she would be patient and not question it. Joris already hinted on whatever awaited her and her brothers wasn’t exactly of the good sort, which was a hint enough. “I will inform Yugo and Ad,” she said while she absentmindedly stroked the edge of the counter, distracted by her own thoughts. She was certain her brothers wouldn’t object to visiting Bonta and finally meet the Bontarian king in person, one of greatest allies Alys managed to gather for her people, but… she had hoped their first meeting wouldn’t be carried upon a wave of bad news. What could it possibly be?

“Alys.”

The saying of her name stopped her from heading towards the back door, the tone it was spoken in urgent. She reluctantly looked to Joris after the way he said her name made a shiver go up her spine, meeting his large eyes before he tilted his head down to let his hood block her from his sight.

“This day will test your loyalties,” he said hushed,” I cannot prepare you for what is to come, no matter how hard I wish to try. Whatever happens…” His voice trailed off before he pushed his shoulders back and straightened up, standing more confidently to look at her rather than hide in his hood. “Try and prepare yourself for the worst,” he said, unable to finish what he wanted to say previously. He didn’t have the heart for it, for it weren’t just her loyalties which would be tested today. His were too.

He saw her hesitate while she mulled what he carefully shared with her over, her gaze cast down to the floor. She had every right to be worried or to be suspicious of what awaited her in Bonta but she didn’t allow it to control her. She showed Joris a reassuring smile, one he had seen many times before and knew was nothing but a mask she hid her true feelings behind, before she stepped outside to talk with her brothers, leaving the master by himself and his quiet frustrations.

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Traces, chapter 07.   
>  **: Ernaldus of Brakmar is the non-canon name for Prince Brakmar, made up by me for writing purposes.


	2. Her Hand

 

“Remember to behave. Be polite and address him correctly.”

Yugo closed one of his eyes when Alys rubbed a thumb across his cheek to get rid of a smudge which was barely noticable, if there at all, as she sat on her ankles before him, the boy getting one last check over to be absolutely certain he was decent. He, his brother and sister had only just arrived in Bonta with Joris as their escort, the nerves high. The master had been unusually quiet and withdrawn during the journey to Bonta after he extended his king’s invitation towards the Eliatropes, and Alys was acting out of the ordinary with being more fidgety than ever before. She wasn’t even dressed in her usual attire, be it for daily use or formalities, her dress rather simplistic for her doing. It was all a little suspicious.

No reason was given, the boys left in the dark about why the Bontarian king wishes to meet them. Joris refused to crack and say more, no matter how much Adamaï tried to pull something out of him. The fact that the master warned Alys to prepare for the worst was kept silent to not have the boys worry, something the female Eliatrope decided on the moment she became aware that this was no mere visit to the Bontarian royal court. But the silences and peculiar behavior from the ambassadors did make the young king and his dragon brother curious and fed their eagerness and excitement to the point it was about to overflow.

“You worry too much, sis,” Adamaï remarked after Alys thoughtfully pursed her lips and gave Yugo’s cheek a firmer rubbing, squishing the boy’s round cheek and smothering his soft laughter.

“I worry the exact right amount,” she said a little absentminded with Yugo’s face cupped in her hands, her head slightly tilting to the side as she examined the boy like he was a painting which needed her criticism. Maybe she should brush his hair a bit while she had the time or would that be too much? Goddess, she should have told him to dress better before they left. Whatever would Theron think if he were to see the king of the Eliatropes looking like a… well, a boy from an Amaknian village? 

She paused with grooming Yugo after something dawned on her, an eyebrow slowly raising.

 _Of course_ he looks like a boy from Amakna; it’s what he is. He’s no king with a fancy crown, a grand palace or riches, but a simple fourteen year old boy. Whatever is she thinking?

She sighed at herself when the realization hit her, feeling sheepish for getting carried away. Maybe she was worrying a little too much…? Perhaps overthinking it? She was, wasn’t she? She smiled for Yugo after she internally lectured herself for being fussy and overbearing before she stood up, her gaze turning towards the closed door. 

The room they were in was welcoming enough but she couldn’t help but fret over too many ‘what if’s and it made her nervous. They were told to wait but for how long? Adamaï was also growing restless, though she was certain it was more because of how she was acting rather than him being impatient. They were all kept in the dark about things, even after they entered the city and Joris, he…

A grimace shimmered through the appearances she tried to keep up when she thought about him. He kept himself at a distance ever since they left Emelka, physically, socially and mentally… It was alarming how different he felt in comparison to previous meetings. She had hoped he would speak to her about why his king had summoned her and her brothers after they arrived at the palace, but other than giving small instructions as to where to be and what to do, he didn’t talk.

Her attention catapulted back to the closed door when a knocking could be heard and the door opened shortly after, her heart pounding in her chest. The man she hoped to see wasn’t the one opening the door but she was still happy to see the Lord Chamberlain standing in the doorway. “Sir Ponctual,” she said in greeting while she stood beside Yugo and lightly touched the boy’s shoulder,” it is good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Madame, and it is a pleasure to finally meet your liege,” the spindly elderly man said and respectfully inclined his head for Yugo before looking a little puzzled when his eyes fell on the ivory dragon. He looked him over, at first not certain what to say as seeing a dragon wasn’t a normal occurrence before he repeated the same notion of inclining his head to not be disrespectful. “His Majesty and a few of his council are ready to receive you and your kin, so if you would follow me.” 

Yugo and Adamaï threw a glance towards each other before they looked to Alys, the small nod she gave them a quiet answer to their unspoken question. It was time to finally learn about why they were in Bonta. The boys went ahead to follow after the Enutrof who stood waiting in the hallway, their sister right behind them before she was the one to break the silence.

“Is all well, Lord Chamberlain?”

“Oliver, Madame, call me Oliver,” the chamberlain smiled for her after he glanced back from the corner of his eyes, though the smile soon disappeared in the wrinkles of his face as his more neutral but formal facial expression returned,” I, unfortunately, cannot indulge you with the current state of affairs but the king will inform you shortly.”

Another dead end, but at least their patience would soon be rewarded. Oliver was swift to lead the three Eliatropes to the war room, having hurried through the large throne room to not allow the young visitors to be distracted and delay their audience with the king. The war room was just like Alys remembered it, every bookcase and detailed map still in their place. The long oval table by which she sat almost two years ago to discuss allegiances was not as heavily occupied as back then, which surprised her a little. Theron Sheran Sharm was present and accompanied by Master Joris Jurgen, the blind Maester Dormu and an Ouginak Alys hadn’t seen before. Including the chamberlain, this was a small gathering and it seemed they were in the middle of a discussion before they got interrupted.

Theron straightened up when the guests approached, the tapping of his cane sounding hollow against the carpet. He nodded to Alys in greeting before he focused on Yugo and Adamaï while he rested a hand against the back of his chair, a smile growing visible behind his trimmed beard and mustache. “Welcome to Bonta, Your Highness, Master Dragon. I thank you for treating the invitation with urgency,” he said, seeming to take Yugo seriously no matter the age he appeared to be,” please, have a seat.”

Yugo was the first to sit down after Theron gestured towards the three chairs across of him and his inconclusive council while Adamaï was a little slower, not because of reluctance but because he didn’t fully trust the situation. It was about time someone talked and explained a few things; he didn’t like this silence and stiffness one bit.

Alys, who was dressed in a plain hooded dress to not outshine her king, was the last to sit down, her gaze flickering between the four men who sat across of her and her brothers. Making eye contact with the small master was out of the question even though she tried after everyone was seated. Was he avoiding her? 

“I apologize for the lack of introductions,” Theron said after Oliver went around the table to make certain all was in order,” or the mystery behind the summon. It was a necessary precaution to assure your safety and prevent anything ill from happening. This is a complicated and delicate matter which needs to be discussed in the privacy this room has to offer. Master Joris?” The Feca looked to his advisor, giving the floor to him.

Joris sat up in his chair and folded his hands on the table, his eyes gliding over everyone present with a cold glance which was shrouded in shadows. He didn’t look nervous, neither did he seem tense but something did feel off about him. “Two envoys from Brakmar arrived in Bonta yesterday to request our cooperation in forming a truce between the nation of Brakmar and the Eliatrope people,” he began, his voice gravelly,” the Prince and his council offer peace, resources, and land for future settlement if the Eliatropes accept Brakmar’s proposed terms and conditions.”

“A truce?” Yugo’s eyebrows knitted together underneath his hat as his brown eyes turned to Alys, receiving a baffled glance in return when she met his gaze. The relationship between Brakmar and the Eliatropes was wobbly at best so this approach came as a surprise. “In exchange for what, exactly?” With the Eliacube out of everyone’s reach and all known Eliatrope Dofus kept in hidden locations, what could Brakmar possibly gain from a truce?

Theron placed a loosely rolled up parchment on the table, its red wax seal already broken. All eyes were on the piece of long paper, even after Oliver picked it up to deliver it to Yugo and allow the king of the Eliatropes to read whatever it may say. Yugo was reluctant to take the parchment from the chamberlain, not liking how steeply the atmosphere had dropped in the room; it felt ominous. He unrolled the parchment after he accepted it from the white-haired Enutrof, not certain if he should read it but he knew it was expected of him. Adamaï leaned in close to read along when Oliver returned to his spot somewhat behind Theron’s chair, the Bontarian king observing them in silence before he answered Yugo’s question,” Brakmar wishes to unify their nation and the Eliatrope people through marriage.”

“Excuse me?”

All eyes turned to Alys after she blurted out in startle, shock written on her face. Her eyes were large and round while she awaited an explanation from any of the five men across of her, her thoughts in disarray. Marriage? Between who? Did she understand what was proposed in the message or was she assuming wrongly? There were but a few Eliatropes on this world and most of them were children… _except for her_. Oh Goddess, no… Color drained from her face when the realization hit her hard, her heart sinking while she hoped with all her might this wasn’t happening.

“He--he isn’t lying, Alys,” Yugo said with a baffled stutter, his wide eyes resting on a section of the writing he thoroughly read through,” they are asking for your hand…” He handed the parchment over so she could read it for herself, her hands quivering as she took it from him. She swallowed to gather her courage before she began to read the message with a reluctance everyone in the room could taste, the tension rising.

“That’s a no then,” Adamaï snorted and uncoiled his arms from his chest to lean with an elbow on the table to glance towards his brother and sister,” we don’t need Brakmar. We have been doing well enough without them and we will continue to do so.”

“There is more to it, Master Dragon,” Bestor cut in to interrupt Adamaï,” if the Lady Alys receives your blessing and accepts Brakmar’s proposal, the prince will be crowned king. Their marriage is his coronation. Brakmar will grow stronger through this unification and therefore won’t take kindly to refusal; they have too much to gain from this.”

Adamaï’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the Ouginak, his temper beginning to show. “What are they going to do?” he asked with a snap in his voice,” declare war against the Eliatropes? There’s only five of us; until we decide for the Emrubians to come to this world, Brakmar has nobody to wage war against. We can easily refuse. Brakmar deserves nothing we have to offer, especially not one of our own.”

Bestor shook his head. “You are forgetting the involvement of Bonta and along with it your other allies. Why do you think Brakmar came to Bonta first and asked for our cooperation in this predicament?”

“They will turn to you if we refuse.”

“Precisely,” Bestor nodded when Yugo showed understanding to what he was hinting at,” it has come to Brakmar’s attention that Bonta’s allegiance with the Eliatropes is strong. If you decline their request for your sister’s hand in marriage, they will demand of us to cut the ties with your people. It will cause a chain reaction… The allies you managed to gain will be questioned and some won’t risk their connections with Brakmar for this. You still have to prove yourself towards the world, no matter your previous achievements. You’ll lose precious allies if you don’t think this through.” 

Adamaï rose a little in his seat and placed both his claws on the table before he asked with a glare which was as sharp as glass,” so this is a trap? Back us into a corner and then force us into a truce with them? We’ll take the risk! Alys isn’t going to marry that pompous prince or anyone else from Brakmar. Not while I have a say in it! If other allies crumble and retreat with their tail between their legs then they weren’t worth to have.”

“Adamaï…” Alys turned her head a little towards the young dragon but didn’t look at him, the look in her eyes distant and hollow,” it wasn’t easy to convince these people to join forces with us. Losing them will deal a heavy blow to the progress we have already made… I am certain Brakmar foresaw this.”

Yugo subduedly shook his head to express his disapproval,” you shouldn’t have to… this isn’t right.” He threw a glance towards Theron to see if he had his support but the king was as silent as the small master seated beside the blind Huppermage. It was up to the Eliatropes to decide how they were going to face this problem as they had the final say. With no response given, the young Eliatrope instead turned to Joris,” Master Joris, isn’t there something you ca--?”

“I have to,” Alys suddenly said, intentionally interrupting Yugo so he wouldn’t involve Joris any further,” I have no choice in the matter. There’s too much at stake, Yugo… The Eliatropes need their allies for their future survival. No matter how we personally feel about it, it is better to have Brakmar with us than against us.”

“What are you saying...?” Yugo felt the doubt gnawing at him, the boy in deep denial. He refused to believe that this was the only way to handle this. Nobody should be forced to marry anyone; there was no happiness to gain from it, especially if the groom were to be the very prince of Brakmar. Alys would be miserable for years to come. “You’re not accepting their proposal, are you?”

“I am.” 

Her answer caused the whole room to fall silent though all she could hear was the heavy beating of her heart pounding in her ears. Duty. Duty always came first, this was no different. Although it disgusted her, she would do this for the children and their future. If being wedded to the Brakmarian prince would ensure strong allegiances with the other nations and delegations, then it shouldn’t be considered a loss. She can’t be selfish now, no matter how she and others felt about it. This was far too important; her own feelings didn’t matter.

Alys couldn’t help but glance at Joris but was unable to see his eyes, his continued silence weighing heavy on her heart. He did warn her for this, to prepare for the worst, but how could she possibly have prepared herself for this? Did he know what Brakmar wanted? Was that the reason for the distance he kept ever since he came to fetch her? How could he have kept it silent from her…? 

She clenched her eyes shut before she calmly lay the parchment on the table and stroked her fingers along the curling edges, her hands trembling though she didn’t even try to hide it. Instead, she tried to keep her composure when she turned her attention to Theron, at first looking uncertain before her expression hardened and she spoke clearly,” with Bonta as our witness, I accept Brakmar’s proposal for my hand in marriage. May our…” She swallowed as the struggle to not throw over the table she sat by wavered, her voice quieter than before,” may our union be prosperous…”

“May it be so,” the Bontarian king muttered while Bestor and Dormu repeated his words, the young Eliatrope king and his draconic brother staring at Alys in disbelief with open mouths. Theron slowly rose from his chair, the smile he had before far gone. “We will inform the Brakmarian envoys about your decision. The war room is yours for the time being.”

The female Eliatrope nodded in thanks before she closed her eyes and waited for the king and his councilors to leave the room, the negotiations done with. Bonta was nothing but a mediator, a mediator which had no say in the whole affair; there was nothing more to do or say for them. They were Brakmar’s lever to make the Eliatropes cooperate… and it had worked well, to the dismay of Bonta and the Eliatropes alike. 

Alys slid her chair back and stood up the moment the door closed and a heavy silence fell over the room, her chest rising with the deep breath she took. Her hands were pressing down on the parchment, her fingers white from how hard she pushed them against the table. Her brothers weren’t certain what to say or do, the situation having rendered them speechless. Yugo opened his mouth to speak but instead held his breath as Alys dug her nails into the paper when she heard him make the attempt to form words.

“Why didn’t they send this Emelka?” Her voice was trembling as the anger she held back on made her shake, the crinkling of the paper echoing how she felt. “Why Bonta, of all places? Why here?” She knew why. It was all done on purpose and it made her sick to her stomach. 

“You don’t have to do this. We’ll find a way to nullify these terms for a truce without Brakmar taking it out on anyone.”

“Don’t I?” Her question was bitter, her attitude nearly pitch black, the tone of her voice desperate and giving away she was on the verge of losing her composure. “You know as well as I do that Brakmar wouldn’t have accepted any other answer than yes, Yugo,” she said, struggling with finding the words or the will to talk,” we’ve had enough dealings with them to know this is a ploy I cannot turn away from without severe consequences. They offer land and resources… the things we are in dire need of and cannot risk to turn down. It is a chance we can’t and shouldn’t squander, a chance they took advantage of, but I--” 

She stopped herself as she hung her head and shook it, not wanting to expose her brothers to how she felt. Goddess, she dreamt of marrying someone she loves, she romanticized the idea so often ever since she learned about the sacred custom but with the Brakmarian prince? It was a nightmare worse than the ones which made her search for her Dofus. Her feelings were meant for someone else and he… he… 

The sides of her hands slammed down on the table before she roughly shoved her chair aside and wandered away from her brothers, her hands digging into her thick hair and across her scalp. It was difficult to think rationally. Her mind kept going in between what needed to be done, how she felt, what the children needed and the wonder to how Joris felt or thought about this. Was he as appalled as her, perhaps regretting that certain feelings and thoughts would remain unspoken, if there were any? She did… She was almost drowning in the regret.

“Alys…”

She tilted her head back and slowly pulled her hands out of her hair when Yugo tried to get her attention as carefully as he could, her back turned to him and Adamaï. She took another deep breath before her hands balled into fists and pressed against her thighs, her muscles tense as she attempted to prevent her body from shaking as she made a decision. “You will return home.”

“ _What_?!” Adamaï almost jumped onto the table in shock, the young dragon standing on his chair with his claws nearly sinking into the wood of the table. “If you think we’re going to let go you to Brakmar without us, you can forget it!”

“This is not up for debate!”

The raising of her voice caught the boys by surprise and shut them up, not used to her shouting at them, if anyone. Yugo lowered his gaze down to the table while Adamaï stood with his blue lips pressed together, neither of them daring to speak their minds or make the situation more complicated than it already was. 

“You will return home,” she repeated sternly, though softer this time,” if anything happens, if this is truly some dark plot, then at least you will be safe. Nothing can happen to either of you, you are who our people will turn to and follow once it is time for them to return to this world. We all know there is more to this proposal than what Brakmar makes it seem, but I will take the risk for all those children. They need this…”

Adamaï’s eyes narrowed when Alys treated herself as less important than him or Yugo. She was hardly ever selfish and had made multiple sacrifices for them and those children she was desperate to protect, but this was a far too large sacrifice to make, even for her. “And what if Brakmar doesn’t keep their word? What if they keep you hostage to ensure they’ll get what they want? What then?”

“They won’t. While we can’t risk denying their request, Brakmar can’t risk throttling back on their own word. If they do, they will lose the faith and trust of their allies and their allegiances will crumble. The prince may not be the most courageous or the sharpest tool in the shed but he isn’t stupid. This is far too well planned out to be just a whim decision.”

“I don’t want you to marry him.”

Alys finally glanced back when Yugo spoke honestly, her shoulders drooping. She watched him and his brother as they sat on the other side of the table, two defeated and upset looking boys who were powerless to prevent this from happening. “Neither do I,” she admitted, finally feeling the pricking of tears,” but I will give this the benefit of a doubt. Perhaps he will make a better husband than he does a prince…”

Lies. Terrible lies. She didn’t even believe herself and obviously neither did Adamaï or Yugo. This was not the husband she had in mind for herself. The silence which followed made her feigned weak smile fade. There was so much she wished to say, so many things she wanted to break or throw about. She wanted to scream, she wanted to run and never look back but all she could do was look down to the floor and let her sadness overtake her.

For the children… For a future.

“If you go,” Yugo said with a quiet voice as he slowly rose his chin to peer towards Alys from under the brim of his hat,” we won’t see you again for a very long time…”

Her already fading smile twitched, the corners of her mouth pulling downwards before she dropped her head and clenched her eyes shut, not able to prevent the tears from welling up after Yugo said aloud what everyone was thinking. Her shoulders shuddered as her hands crept over her face, the fight against holding back her tears falling apart. 

She didn’t see the flash of cyan beside her but she did feel the weight which suddenly pressed against her and the grip of two arms clamping around her waist. The Zaap closed after Yugo brought himself closer and clung onto the Eliatrope, his tight hug causing her shaky and weakened knees to buckle. She slumped on the floor beside him as she sobbed into her hands, unable to stop herself as she crumbled.

Goddess, she did not want to do this.

Adamaï watched as he lingered on his chair, his eyebrows twitching as he had to hold back on giving into his burning frustration. They were giving in far too easily but then what else could be done? He didn’t know. Alys is going to marry that jerk of a prince and grant him his desired coronation, all so that the Eliatropes can have land to settle on and resources to thrive with. To prevent wars and disputes. To give their people a chance. It was a bold move from Brakmar but so well calculated and Adamaï hated it.

He slowly approached his siblings after he climbed off the chair, hesitating before he reached for her shoulder to touch it. Her arm was around his neck before he could even blink or touch her, his body soon pressed against her bosom while her hand rested on the back of his head. She embraced the boys and held them tight, not wanting to let go while knowing this couldn’t last forever. She will be gone from everyone she loves and surrounded by people who have only shown malice towards her kin. This may be the last hug she will have in months to come and she couldn’t savor it even if she were to try.

She was the one to break the tender moment and the one to head for the door, the time to part ways having come far too quickly. She wiped her tears as she walked before she opened the door and entered the throne room, her gaze falling onto the king standing in front his throne with the Lord Chamberlain and Maester Dormu. Bestor and Joris were nowhere to be seen, the absence of the small master only adding more weight to the anguish which pressed down on her.

“Your Highness…” Her voice was broken and shaky when she made her way over to Theron, the king nodding to her as he respectfully turned to face her. He waited patiently for her to approach, sympathy present on his worn face. “I don’t believe I have the right to ask Bonta for a favor, not after getting you involved in this matter,” Alys continued after she gathered the courage,” but could I ask for my brothers to be safely escorted home to Emelka? Please…?”

“Of course…” His nodding was slow before he gestured to Oliver with a small wave of a hand, not needing to tell the chamberlain what needed to be done. He bowed for his king before he hurried off to prepare the requested escort, acting swift as he always did. “I hope you will forgive me for our first meeting turning out this way,” Theron said as he looked to Yugo,” I had imagined it differently and under more pleasant circumstances.”

Yugo could only nod. When Alys told him and Adamaï they were going to see the Bontarian king, he surely didn’t expect to give his sister away. She hadn’t been long in his life, almost three years ever since she was found in Sadida, but it felt much longer. She was a part of his family, no matter how rag-tagged it was and it was therefore difficult to let her go. What would Alibert say? He looked up when Oliver returned with a single guard, the preparations dealt with quickly. It was time…

“Go on,” Alys softly urged as she placed a hand lightly against Yugo’s back, once more keeping up appearances to not show weakness or worry anyone further. This was as difficult for Adamaï and Yugo as it was for her. Even the onlookers were having their doubts and little troubles to not be affected, but it couldn’t be helped. The Eliatrope and dragon trailed after the guard when Yugo managed to step forward after his sister gently nudged him, the king’s reassurances that she would be fine and that Bonta would look out for her falling on deaf ears. How could she possibly be fine? How could anyone be fine with this?

She wondered that too as she watched her little brothers unwillingly take their leave, the regal presence of Theron next to her and the slender hand of Dormu resting on her shoulder not giving her any comfort. She felt cold and alone, so very alone. 

Her shoulders and chest rose with the deep breath she took after she could no longer see her siblings, the look in her eyes filled with sorrow and defeat. There was no turning back now, no escape from this nightmare; this was real and it was happening. “Please take me to the envoys when they are ready,” she said after she reached for her pin and lay her hand over it, holding it tight to not waver in the courage she feigned to have,” before I grow sensible and change my mind…” 

Oliver abided with a small courtesy before he led the way to where the two envoys and their armed escort were waiting, the Brakmarians’ patience having worn thin. She had no idea what she was walking into but then she didn’t care… not right now. She was numb after she mentally retreated to remain in ignorant but blissful denial, not wanting to think about her husband-to-be or the family she was leaving behind. All she wanted was to drown and slip into a slumber from which she wouldn’t wake until this was over.

Goddess have mercy.


	3. Clemency

It is odd how little she thought about it before. Her focus was always on the future and what the next step of action should be but it mostly revolved around the children in Emrub and the World of Twelve rather than herself. She never really gave her own future a thought, her duties and responsibilities the number one priorities since the very beginning. At this moment in time, though, as she followed the in blue-clad chamberlain and the woven patterns of the carpets, her own future was all she could think of. 

Love. Marriage. Children. 

She hadn’t given marriage much thought, aside from the little daydreams while reading one of the romance novels she liked to indulge herself with after a hard day of work. Neither did she think much about having children of her own, the orphans getting her care and devotion instead even though they were far out of her reach. Her little family, albeit not her own, filled that gap in her life; caring for her little brothers and helping out around the inn when not occupied with ambassador related stuff was something she greatly enjoyed and it kept the little desires to be a mother or a wife at bay.

There were, of course, the small intrusive thoughts which would sneak in at times, especially when alone and longing for a certain company. She was in denial about her own feelings, she knew this to be true and it was why she hardly listened to these little thoughts or ignored them the best she could. It was never the right time or place to think about how she felt towards some people in her life, the fear of rejection or disappointment stopping her from pondering it over. Now that she was on the brink of losing the freedom to make choices in the best interest of her own future, those small intrusive thoughts had grown massive. They followed her like a shadow, a very heavy shadow which hung from her back like a bag filled with rocks. They wanted to be acknowledged and for once she didn’t have the will or energy to push them away.

Prince Ernaldus of Brakmar, first of his name and soon to be king. He had been a thorn in her side for the past three years, an obstacle in her pursuit to reestablish a new home for her people. Did he imagine marrying her when they first met in Sadida? Highly unlikely with the snide remarks he made then; he was eager to see her fall. He obviously didn’t trust Eliatropes so why this forceful arrangement which would saddle him up with one he despised until death do them part? 

Power, she guessed. This was all about power and nothing more.

Alys rose her gaze from floor to let her eyes rest on the small ponytail of Oliver, his white hair neatly tied back with a sapphire blue ribbon at the nape of his long neck. She tried to find distraction in the bow but the color tugged her thoughts to the one person she didn’t wish to think about. She quietly wondered what Joris’ thoughts were on the matter. Would he tell her or remain as silent as he had been after his king handed over Brakmar’s message? What would hurt less, truth or ignorant bliss?

She almost walked into Oliver when the chamberlain suddenly came to a halt and turned to a closed door by which two guards were posted, the look on his face a little solemn. “The envoys of Brakmar await your presence with Masters Bestor and Jurgen, who will assist you further with the needed preparations for your escort to Brakmar.”

“Thank you.”

Oliver watched the Eliatrope after she silently thanked him before he sighed through his nose and shook his head. “It isn’t my place to share my personal thoughts with you, Madame, but I must say it is unfortunate this came to pass. You have my deepest sympathy and that of the king.”

All she could do was give Oliver the faintest of smiles to show her appreciation for his honesty and care, feeling greatly subdued by what happened. He nodded to her after he caught her small hint of gratitude before he straightened up, cleared his throat and knocked on the door to announce their arrival, not waiting for anyone to respond. He opened the door for her before he stepped aside and bowed his head, leaving her in the care of those present within the room.

The first pair of eyes she locked with when she entered the room was his. It was unintentional but that didn’t lessen the blow it delivered. They stared at each other after Alys stepped inside and met Joris’ narrow-eyed gaze, his reaction the same as hers as his hidden expression and enlarging of his eyes betrayed his startle shortly after. Neither of the ambassadors were ready to face each other, the quick aversion of their gazes leaving them with an aching which was deep underneath their skin.

“And the Lady finally makes her appearance,” someone said, the soft clinking of porcelain accompanying the voice. Alys shifted her focus to the woman seated in one of the available chairs and watched her lower a cup of tea onto the small platter she held, the edge of it stained with the red of her lipstick. In her company was the masked messenger, standing quietly beside the armchair. “Better late than never,” she said as she placed the cup and platter onto the nearby table before she uncoiled her long legs and rose to her feet with an audible sigh,” let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“You…?” 

The look of utter disbelief on Alys’ face brought along confusion, at least with the Bontarians. Bestor cocked his head as he observantly watched the female Eliatrope while Joris remained like a quiet stoic shadow, both the masters alerted by the tone of Alys’ voice.

Alys looked Timinne up and down with furrowed brows after she instantly recognized the Huppermage before she took a small step back and shook her head, sounding disturbed with her question,” is--is this some kind of joke?”

“If so, it is a tasteless one,” Timinne said under her breath as she gave her masked companion a sideways glance, not receiving much of a reaction from him. She huffed before she advanced and closed the distance between herself and Alys with a calm and slow tread, the masters quick to back the Eliatrope up in case of trouble. “I am as excited to be here as you are,” she said after she came to a stop while keeping a fair distance between herself and Alys, the look in her eyes a little foul and agitated,” so let’s not make this awkward. I am here to escort you to Brakmar, by His Royal Highness’ order.” 

“And you think I will believe that?” Alys asked, a tremble present in her voice,” you tried to kill me.* You almost killed Fernand; we barely got away with our lives.”

The notion of attempted murder made the tension in the room vibrate. Bestor look perplexed and baffled at the alarming news while Joris quickly stepped up beside Alys with a chilling glare, already informed about what had occurred in Brakmar when Alys visited it though he was unaware this envoy was the Huppermage who attacked her then. It didn’t stop there, however. 

Alys squinted her eyes when Timinne’s masked companion suddenly stood behind the female Brakmarian and had a hand on her shoulder, giving her the quiet warning to not overstep any further boundaries. “And you…” The mask was different but it couldn’t fool her. Alys rose a hand to touch her throat as memories flooded her mind, the man’s familiar steel colored eyes the cause behind the overwhelming feeling of dread which spiked up. She knew exactly who was behind the mask and it scared her beyond belief,” why are you here, Gard? Why are both of you here? What is Brakmar planning?”

He knew it. Joris didn’t hesitate to place himself in between the envoys and the Eliatrope ambassador to be her shield after Alys confirmed his suspicions about the Masqueraider, his small body ready to retaliate if needed. Bestor was a little clueless on what exactly was happening but he understood that this sending off wasn’t going as planned, his eyes on the door to fetch the guards if things would get out of hand. “Explain yourselves,” Joris demanded as he stood with a hunched back and a stretched out arm to keep Alys behind him, sounding threatening.

Timinne’s eyes lit up with enticement when Joris was ready to fight, the want to meet him head on and vent out some of her frustrations burning. Her growing grin died off when she felt Gard tighten his grip on her shoulder, the Masqueraider picking up on what she was thinking. She slapped his hand away after he reminded her to behave before she sighed and looked at him,” I told him this was a stupid idea.”

Gard nodded, either in agreement or understanding before he turned his attention to Joris. The scroll he took out of his cloak and tossed over to the master was caught out of the air with a quick lash, the eye contact Joris was determined to hold unbroken until he looked at what was written on the scroll. The signature of the Brakmarian prince and the wax seal bearing the Brakmarian coat of arms were the first things he noticed before he skimmed over the writing. “You were pardoned?” he asked, unconvinced. The signature and seal may be authentic but it remained peculiar that Brakmar sent these two envoys to bring home the prince’s bride, a bride these two envoys were eager to silence not too long ago. 

“In a way,” Timinne answered,” to make amends and right the wrongs done to her and her people, Brakmar extends their apology to the Eliatrope. They wish to assure her that our overzealousness and actions in the past are not appreciated nor tolerated by the royal court. We have received punishment for the wrongs we did--” She paused as she couldn’t help but scowl at Alys before adding under her breath,” a punishment which is still ongoing, for I stand before you on this oh so joyous day as your humble servant and chaperone, in name of Ernaldus of Brakmar.”

“Brakmar wants to assure the Lady Alys is safe in their care by sending you? What kind of logic is that?”

The Huppermage looked offended after Joris spoke his mind. “I am a loyal servant of Brakmar, little man,” she said angrily, her temper ruling,” I do not question their decisions, I do what I am ordered to do. Even though it sickens me I have to stay my hand and bow my head for her after what one of her people did to Brakmar, my liege has chosen this woman as his queen and wife.”

The glare she threw Alys’ way was piercing and oozing with held back resentment. The dislike towards Eliatropes ran deep but it seemed the loyalty Timinne spoke of was what kept the dislike and anger detained. She only used a sharp tongue and cloaked insults rather than a searing astral blade and destructive elements to bring her point across.  

Alys grimaced as she tried to weigh Timinne’s words with the past experiences. Joris was correct; Brakmar’s decision to send these two to be her escort was indeed unlogical. No matter what is said or done, no matter the signatures or assurances, it didn’t lessen her suspicions, agony or anxiety. This was an awful welcome to her future life… and the risk of saying no to the proposal was still far too high.

“Apologize.” 

Timinne grit her teeth and bared them when Gard’s muffled voice sounded behind her though she didn’t say or do anything, not even when Gard lowered himself down onto a knee before the ambassadors. The Masqueraider held his head down after he kneeled, all eyes on him. The discomfort which was present in the room didn’t waver but increased when Timinne frustratedly clicked her tongue and followed suit by bending her knee and joining Gard in extending the apology they had to make.

“Consider our apology as proof that Brakmar bears no ill will to the Eliatropes and is willing to make the necessary changes in order to strengthen the desired union.”

The uncertainty was strong and made Alys shuffle a little with her feet, her spine far too tense and her shoulders and neck stiff. She didn’t like this, she didn’t like this one bit, but as a representative of her people and an anchor to a stable future with Brakmar, she had to lay personal issues aside. She lowered her gaze down to the back of Joris’ hood, the master not having eased in his defensive posture. Even after Brakmar lay their claim on her, he was still there for her and it hurt her more than anyone in this room was probably realizing.

“Please stop,” she said softly, speaking to the whole world and the cruel hands of fate but in this room it was directed at the two envoys and the master she secretly admired. Only Timinne and Gard responded to her plea with a raising of their heads as they felt addressed, either looking expectantly or a little bitter. “I just sent my family away to lay my fate in Brakmar’s hands. Your apologies may be genuine, or not… but it doesn’t make any of this easier. You have done me wrong, all of you. You made me fear Brakmar more than anything else,” she looked at Timinne before she turned her attention to Gard,” and you caused me pain from which I am still recovering. And the prince… The prince is robbing me of the chances to be with someone of my own choice, as if he has the right to do so after taking my Dofus from me. I don’t owe Brakmar anything and yet here I stand, needing to swallow what you have thrown at me all to keep the peace.”

She sounded hurt. Joris eased a little to stand more straight in front of the Eliatrope ambassador, not letting the Huppermage or Masqueraider out of his sight while he listened. The atmosphere in the room was heavy and stained with a mixture of feelings and thoughts and it affected everyone present. This wasn’t looking good… but someone had to cut through it, whether they wanted it or not.

“But…” Alys takes a deep breath after she closed her eyes and tried to gather her courage, being the one to bury the hatchet,” I promised someone dear to me that I won’t hold grudges. It doesn’t suit me… Forgiveness is given rather than earned or asked for but I will consider it, for the sake of those we serve. I will go to Brakmar and face what awaits me there, as I promised when I accepted their terms.”

There was a painful pang in her chest when she noticed Joris ball his hands into small fists after she reaffirmed her decision to give into Brakmar’s proposal, her resolve shaking. Bestor could be heard sighing in relief while the two Brakmarians stand up to no longer kneel before the Eliatrope, their apologies having had the desired effect, somewhat.

“As discussed beforehand,” Joris said after a while of silence and handed the small scroll Gard gave him over to the Ouginak,” the Lady Alys will not be on her own in your custody. His Majesty chose me as the Bontarian representative during the upcoming ceremonies and the Lady’s stay in Brakmar before she exchanges vows with your liege. I will, therefore, accompany your escort.”

Wait, what? 

The air in the room suddenly felt ice cold, as if her heart had frozen over and was spreading its chill through the room. Alys stood frozen with goosebumps riddling her skin and the small hairs on the back of her neck standing up, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. He is coming with…? No, no, she didn’t want him to be present. This whole situation was already miserable enough without him. If he comes along to Brakmar, how will she make peace with the idea that she is going to get married to someone who disgusts her and holds no good opinions about the man she thinks so highly of? This was torture. “I rather not--”

“The king insists,” Joris said abruptly, cutting her objection off as he looked at her from under the brim of his hood, the look in his eyes dark. His snappy interruption silenced her, perhaps a little too harshly but it worked as she didn’t try to change his mind any further. She stared at him with a troubled look in her wide open eyes, her pressed together lips lightly quivering while she slowly straightened to keep her poise. It wasn’t exactly working, the struggle she was enduring written on her face and it weakened him to see it. They simultaneously averted their gazes as they were at loss for words before Joris returned his attention to Timinne and Gard,” let us not delay this any further than necessary.”

“Good,” Timinne said before she hissed through her teeth at Gard as she brushed past him,” let us leave this wretched place.” The Huppermage took point as she hurried out of the room without a single glance given towards her future queen, not wishing to spend a minute longer in the palace of Brakmar’s rival. 

Gard was a little more considerate as he waited for Alys and Joris to follow Timinne’s example, allowing Joris to have a word with his fellow master when he beckoned him over. The Terrier ducked a little with perked up ears after Joris took him to the side and spoke to him with a lowered voice, speaking quietly,” make certain you inform the king of what happened here, every little detail. He needs to know.”

“Of course. Stay safe, Joris and look after her. If this goes wrong, Bonta will feel the consequences of it.”

Joris nodded before he stepped up to Alys and looked up at her, his eyes large in the shadow of his hood. There was a hint of dejection in them, one she almost matched, the glance they exchanged not lasting. There was no time to talk or to express what they were thinking… Joris stretched his arm to gesture towards the door and quietly usher Alys to follow Timinne, the Eliatrope complying with a defeated demeanor. He closed the line when Gard stayed close behind her, keeping an eye on things while resenting everything about this ordeal.

Timinne had joined up with the four soldiers in the courtyard, her impatience shining in the sunlight. She was pacing a little though stopped when the trio she was waiting for approached, the time to leave Bonta finally upon them. The journey to Brakmar wasn’t a long one; they would ride to the Zaap of Morblue Hills in Cania and then take the portal straight to Brakmar. A simple looking carriage stood waiting for the guest of honor, including the unaccounted addition which was Joris. Gard and three of the soldiers mounted their dragoturkey steeds while Timinne had the simple task to stand beside one of the doors of the carriage to give any assistance if needed, the Brakmarian envoy having come prepared.

Alys reluctantly climbed into the carriage before she sat down, the benches, walls and ceiling red and black while the available windows were small and mostly covered by curtains. It made it dark and suffocating in the already confined space, even more so when Joris climbed in and sat opposite of her with his mallet beside him. 

The tension settled a little once the door closed and shut them in, but the discomfort remained. Alys wasn’t certain how to sit, what to do with her hands or where to look and so she lay a hand over her mouth and chin while she diverted her attention to the window beside her, the thought as to when she’ll see Bonta again crossing her mind. She reckoned it wouldn’t be for quite some time. She didn’t like that… she didn’t like any of this. The hand which rested against her lips slipped upwards the cover her eyes before she shook her head, the regrets and misery piling up far too quickly.

Joris watched her from the depth of his hood before he looked in the opposite direction than her, eyeing the now closed door and the three windows through which the daylight hardly shone. He could make out the shadows and movements of the Brakmarians as they prepared to leave, the sounds from outside a little muffled.

Gard steered his dragoturkey to the front of the carriage when Timinne sat down beside the soldier who acted as the driver, the Masqueraider’s displeased expression hidden behind the mask as he glared at her. “Accompany her.”

“Like Shukrute I will,” Timinne defiantly said as she crossed her legs and leaned back on the carriage seat,” I won’t be locked up with that Eliatrope, let alone the tiny runt. They’ll be fine with just the two of them in there. They can mope and wallow together, _without_ me. But, if you’re that concerned about the Eliatrope’s wellbeing or feel the need to comfort her, feel free to sit in that crampy space and endure that depressing mess in my stead. I won’t stop you.”

He didn’t say anything, the narrowing of his eyes enough to let the Huppermage know what he thought about her behavior. Not that she cared… It only took a wave of his hand to bring the small escort into motion while he took the lead, beginning the trek to the plains of Cania.

Alys clutched for the edge of the bench cushion when the carriage suddenly rocked and the sounds of the wheels turning were accompanied by mild vibrations, reality beginning to sink in for her. This was it… This was the end of the life she knew and the beginning of one she never wanted. There was no turning back, but then again, she was backed into a corner the moment Joris appeared in Alibert’s kitchen. 

Panic began to rise when the carriage took to the streets and headed for the gates of the city, every chance to return home growing smaller. Her breathing quickened as her fingers dug and pressed into the cushion as she stared out of the window with a pale complexion and large eyes, so many little voices in her head screaming for her to jump out of the carriage and into a Zaap, to flee and leave this nightmare in the dust.

“Alys.”

She didn’t register the saying of her name at first, stuck in the mental turmoil which deafened and blinded her until the second saying of her name made her eyes snap to Joris, noticing his focus wasn’t on her face but on her hands. She rose and turned them over to find what exactly the master was looking at, the familiar cyan glow which flickered underneath her skin and formed a pattern across her palms and fingers taking her by surprise. 

Confusion stabbed her in the back as she stared at her shaking hands before the reasons behind the summoning of her Wakfu dawned on her; she wanted to escape so badly that she subconsciously almost did what the voices were begging her to do. Goddess, she was slowly losing it. A shuddering sigh escaped her as she slowly clenched her hands shut and closed her eyes with a hanging of her head, guessing Joris must have thought she was planning something.

“I’m sorry…” 

Her whispered apology hit him a little too hard, the stoic and cool attitude he managed to keep up since the day before cracking a little. It shattered when Alys reached for the oval pin she wore and began to undo it, intently watching her trembling fingers while he quietly wondered what was driving her. She rested the piece of jewelry in her hands as if it were a newborn Tofu chick after she removed it from the front of her gown, the daylight which shimmered through the cracks between the curtains making it shine. He frowned when she held it out to him, his gaze flickering between the cyan tinted glass and her distorted face, the Eliatrope looked like she was about to fall apart.

Joris could guess what was going through her head. She didn’t need to say it, not to him. He knew how much this pin meant to her, a gift from a not too distant past. She always wore it and each time found a way to work it into her attire, no matter the occasion. Surely that meant something… It made him feel a little proud of himself whenever he saw her wear it, the thought someone could appreciate a gift so much humbling him even to this day. Though… for once he felt no such thing as she held it out to him, the sentimental value it held at risk.

He leaned forward to lightly touch the sides of her cupped hands before his small fingers slipped further across her skin to take her hands in his, feeling them shake. “Keep it,” he said before he rose his gaze to try and meet hers,” there is no need to part from it, unless you wish for it.”

Alys finally met his gaze as she peered at him from under her bangs, the look in her turquoise eyes a mixture of apprehension, uncertainty and anguish. There were no words to describe how she truly felt. She swallowed and wetted her lips before she took a deep breath, her gaze lowering to their hands and the pin as she couldn’t bear looking at him.

“I don’t…” she spoke softly to not break the fragile moment,” but with all that is going on, all that has happened and is going to happen, I can’t…” She sighed as she was at loss for words and unable to finish her sentence, her vision a little hazy with the shimmering of welling tears. They lingered on the edge of her eyelids, refusing to fall as she didn’t want to break apart in front the man she thought about more often than not. “I didn’t want you to be a part of this, Joris.”

“And neither did I want you to be. But we became a part of this the moment Ernaldus and his councilors thought of you as the answer to their problems.”

So he wasn’t disappointed or angry with her, only with the situation. That was a relief but it didn’t change anything. The carriage was taking them to Brakmar and her future, one she couldn’t get away from. She looked at their hands and caressed the edge of her pin before asking,” is it wrong of me to wish for a miracle…?”

“No, I would wish for one too.” His honesty was appreciated as it was like a salve to treat her aching, the two ambassadors sharing the same thought. To be a bride of Brakmar… it was a disgrace. She deserved far better. He shouldn’t have waited with sharing how he felt and thought about the Eliatrope and neither should she have done the same. Regret was an awful dish to eat and even more so when shared. To speak of their little wistful thoughts only felt like it would hurt more rather than remedy what they were going through, and so they kept those thoughts to themselves. “At least you are not going through this alone, for the time being. Bonta is concerned about what Brakmar might be planning with the Eliatropes and it is one of the reasons why I am here. I cannot guarantee your safety but I will try to uphold it until… after.”

Alys nodded solemnly. Once the wedding ceremony and coronation are over, she will be without the support of those she cares about. Joris must take his leave and return to Bonta after the union is sealed and who knows how often she will see her family. “I imagined my future husband to be more… chivalrous and brave,” she mused as she stroked a finger along the edge of her pin, trying to distract herself from thinking about Emelka,” and handsome.” The chuckle she let out was faint, the attempt to cheer herself up failing as she was foolish enough to look at Joris shortly after. She hesitated when he didn’t avert his gaze, the torment she endured bubbling just under the surface. “Without yellow teeth,” she said to not give up on lightening the mood after she quickly looked down to focus on the shining of the cyan colored glass,” and less of a materialistic obsession.”

“Perhaps a non-screechy voice?” 

Finally a genuine laugh, albeit a quiet and short one. Joris smiled a little when he managed to catch her by surprise with his small jest, his question having the desired effect.

“Yes, please,” she sighed, her grimace having lost its edge as the faintest hint of a smile shimmered through,” and a good sense of humor. That would be nice…” Her expression shifted ever so slightly when she felt Joris squeeze her hands as he continued to hold them, the lightheartedness ebbing away as quickly as it came. They couldn’t joke their way through this, not while there were unattended matters which needed to be discussed. She thanked the Gods and her Goddess for the moment of privacy she had with the master, that none of the Brakmarians decided to sit with them in the carriage. A little stroke of luck she was absolutely grateful for.

“Joris…” The saying of his name was careful after she retracted her hands and lay her pin in her lap, soon leaning closer to him to place a hand on his knee while she reached for one of his hands with the other. “Will you continue to be my Guardian, even after I become queen of your rival nation? Will you keep my brother safe from my husband?” The tremble in her voice had returned, the subject a sensitive one as it was personal for the both of them. 

He appeared taken aback by her questions, the silence which followed betraying his reluctance to answer her. The way he held her hand was reassuring as he held it tight before he nodded and said,” it was never my intention to desert my duties, not even after this. You cannot be rid of me that easily, Lady Alys, no matter how hard Brakmar might try.”

His small grin brought her a bit of peace, his reassurances chasing the lingering dread away. She leaned further forward to sit on the edge of the bench before she tilted her head down and rested her forehead against his, allowing herself to get lost in the comforting presence of the master. The outside world was forgotten about, the plains passing by as the envoy continued on towards Morblue Hills. They should arrive soon, to her dismay, but at least she didn’t need to say goodbye to him just yet…

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Traces, chapter 22.   
>  **: See Traces, chapter 31.


	4. For Better Or Worse

 

His coronation. He did look forward to it. The marriage on the other hand…

His fingers caressed the length of his scepter with thoughtless strokes, the Brakmarian prince distracted by his own brooding. His patience had already run out the day before, only a few hours after two of his servants were sent off to Bonta. He didn’t like playing the waiting and guessing game, neither that he had to wait for cooperation from the few he despised.

The Eliatropes were a nuisance from the start. Pretty words, useless relics, and collateral damage were all they had to offer, at least in his opinion. He was still salty about the rejection from the Eliatrope ambassador during the Council of Twelve meeting in Sadida and the mess which followed quickly after with Qilby and the Eliacube. His shattered expectations of power after getting his hands on an Eliatrope Dofus and finding it not working only added more salt to his wounds. And now his council came with the idea to forge a union between Brakmar and those leeching intruders and he was the one who had to deal with it for years to come.

Not exactly something to look forward to.

While Alys was pleasing on the eye and her manners were… acceptable, she had a history with him and it wasn’t the good kind. He knew she hated his guts. Oddly enough, that knowledge was rather satisfying. His disappointments with her people would finally get some rectification, the payback coming in the form of her dismay while forced to be his kin. But, he couldn’t toy with her or treat her too badly even if he wanted to. She may not have much of a say in Brakmarian affairs after becoming queen but she was still the one who could sway the Eliatropes, and an unsatisfied queen is a dangerous queen.

He can’t risk her dethroning him by gaining the sympathy of whoever cared among his people and she was fairly good at gaining such. He knew this all too well and it sickened him. But maybe, just maybe, he could use it to his advantage.

And as much as the thought disgusted and at the same time tickled him, she was expected to give him a son, an heir to the throne. His son. Their son. They had to fornicate and that won’t happen if they don’t even want to get near each other, let alone look at each other. What a bother…

He slumped further in his throne with a long exhale of air, deflating. Something good had to happen very soon or else he’ll suffocate on all the negative thoughts which kept tormenting him. He rose a brow when the Huppermage who served as his chamberlain beckoned over his general, the tall Brakmarian slowly turning his gaze towards the balcony while he stood beside the throne. The general didn’t utter a word when he took his leave to indulge the chamberlain and join him on the balcony of the throne room, the two quietly conversing.

Ernaldus scowled as he was left by himself, curiosity biting him hard. What were they whispering about? Obviously something had caught the chamberlain’s attention, but what could it be?

An answer to his growing wonder followed rather quickly, the general speaking up to be heard,” your messengers have returned, Sire. Presumably with your bride-to-be.”

The prince released a puff of air as if to blow some invisible strands of hair out of his face, the look he carried all but pleased. He dramatically shifted his weight on his throne with a deep sigh before he lugged himself forward and left the comfort of the red velvet cushions, making his way to the grand balcony. His chamberlain and general quickly stepped aside to give the prince some room when he stepped up between them, the atmosphere tilting with rising tension. 

They looked on nervously after Ernaldus snatched the chamberlain’s binocular and extended the attached thin rod to bring it up to one of his eyes, peering through the scope and towards the menacing looking gates of his castle. He saw a carriage and four riders in the courtyard as the gates closed, watching how one of the riders dismounted and made their way over to the carriage to open the door.

“Do you think Bonta and the Eliatropes accepted our terms?”

“I would say so because someone appears to be inside the carriage.”

A sharp hiss from the prince silenced the two Brakmarians after they started to quietly gossip, his attention returning to what he saw. The general’s observation was correct; a female figure dressed in blue stepped out of the carriage after the door was opened for her, the Eliatrope ambassador having arrived in Brakmar. And not just her. “Of course…” He sneered dryly when he witnessed a second and much smaller figure leaving the carriage, the look on his face becoming more sour,” wherever she is, he is.”

The chamberlain’s curiosity was piqued but he didn’t even try to peek past the prince to catch a glimpse of what was happening down below, knowing full well not to intrude on his personal space while he was in a mood. “Who are you speaking of, my Liege?”

“Master Jurgen.” The name left him like a grumble which oozed with disgust, like heartburn he couldn’t swallow down and burned his throat. He lowered the binocular after he almost bent its rod between a thumb and finger before he tossed it at his chamberlain and strayed back into the throne room. “He better not be here to pass on Bonta’s rejection in person,” he said while tracing his steps back to his throne, his general and chamberlain following.

“I don’t think Bonta has to guts to do such, not with something as big as this. Besides, we suspected Bonta would send someone to keep an eye on things, or at least attend the ceremony if it is to continue. It was to be expected they would send Jurgen.”

Ernaldus eyed his general with a wrinkled nose and squinted eyes. “I _know_ that,” he bit after he seated himself,” that doesn’t mean he’s welcome.”

“Please, Sire,” pleaded the chamberlain,” try and focus on the union rather than the master, for Brakmar’s sake. Your council has taken all the necessary precautions to make this marriage work but we need you to cooperate. The risks are already too high; we can’t afford any slip-ups.”

“I know that too, you _imbecile_. Though it isn’t my responsibility to make certain all goes according to plan; it is _yours_!” His voice cracked and became more high pitched after he nearly popped a vein, his glare pinned on the unfortunate Huppermage. 

His mood couldn’t get any worse and it troubled his followers as time was rapidly slipping away; his future wife was in Brakmar and could enter the throne room at any moment. First impressions were already shot by previous meetings between the two, the Brakmarian prince not having been the most pleasant company towards the Eliatrope, neither the most respectful. To think she might be enamored by these events was foolish.

The chamberlain let out a small noise of panic and spun around when the large throne room doors suddenly opening made him jump, three figures making their way inside. It was Gard and two of the men who’d accompanied him to Bonta. The armor-clad soldiers and the masked messenger saluted or bowed before Gard spoke up, his voice somewhat muffled but still clear as it echoed through the large hall,” the Eliatrope and Bontarian representatives have answered your summon, Your Highness, and accepted Brakmar’s proposal.”

“Marvelous news, absolutely marvelous,” the chamberlain smiled after he clasped his hands together in relief though calmed down a bit when the general and prince shot him a cold glance. He cleared his throat with a swallow before he took a step back, their silent warning and disapproval fairly clear.

“Let them in.”

Gard inclined his head before he looked into the dark corridor behind him, the shimmer of gold in the light of the torches betraying someone approached. The appearance of Timinne didn’t stir a reaction, the Huppermage leading the guests into the throne room with a swift stride as she followed the long carpet towards the throne ahead. She swept the tail of her coat aside as she turned on her heels midway and looked to Alys with narrowed eyes, indicating for the Eliatrope to present herself rather than be introduced.

The hesitance Alys felt was written on her face and present in her whole posture, the sideways glance she gave Joris met with only a small nod while he lingered beside her. She inhaled deeply to find a sense of courage after the small master reassured her with a hardly noticeable notion, her turquoise eyes turning to the one seated on the glamorous throne. 

This was it…

She held her head high and pushed her shoulders back before she continued on her own, lessening the distance between herself and Ernaldus. Nobody saw it but her feet were shaking with every step she took. 

The ride to Brakmar was all but pleasant… She mourned the loss of her freedom and the chances to follow the path she wanted to follow while Joris kept a close eye on her, the master just as tangled with his own thoughts about the situation. They needed to allow this to happen, for the sake of a future without bloodshed. The distaste towards Brakmar’s actions and decisions still burned bright, however.

Joris was respectful enough to not stick his hands in his pockets and glare at the prince when Alys approached the throne, instead remaining poised with his mallet resting over a shoulder. He took the opportunity to read the room rather than lay all his focus on the Eliatrope, noticing there were only frowns presents. The soldiers, the prince, his general and chamberlain, and the two messengers which came to fetch Alys; nobody looked thrilled or intrigued. It seemed not even Brakmar considered this a joyous moment. Odd as they were the ones to instigate it.

Ernaldus looked Alys up and down when she curtsied out of good manner rather than respect before he said a little haughty in greeting,” Lady Alys.”

“Your Royal Highness.”

Most of the present Brakmarians would have facepalmed and sighed if they dared, their Liege’s greeting far too stiff with a hint of his known dislike. Her response was just as stiff and forced, though she cloaked her repulsion better than he possibly could. A heavy silence fell after they acknowledged each other, the tension in the room rising. Glances were exchanged between the onlookers to quietly inquire who cared enough or had the guts to speak up, but nobody made a peep while the prince and Eliatrope kept leering at each other.

“I would thank you for the invitation,” Alys spoke up,” but it seems you misplaced my address.”

Joris had to hold back on smirking at the Eliatrope’s sudden bite, surprised by her sass. He figured she had a lot she wanted to say to the prince; it was only expected some of it would spill over with all the nerves and anxiety but he sure didn’t expect her to actually say it. He looked to Ernaldus to see his reaction, the prince’s eyes large as he stared baffled at Alys. His future wife was not going to let herself be tamed so easily, no matter that she needed to uphold her end of the negotiations. 

Good. He doesn’t deserve her affection or goodwill.

One of Ernaldus’ nostrils rose and twitched as he sat up in his throne to make himself a little taller, his eyes locked onto the Eliatrope after she managed to be sarcastic. “Who would have thought you of all people would become my bride.” 

Indeed, who would have thought… He called her a courtesan the first time they met face to face, Qilby’s courtesan to be exact, after she rectified the misassumption of being married to him. How proud the prince must have felt after he tried to insult her and bring her down a peg; she still didn’t quite understand what drove him to treat her as such then. She was certain he was a little salty about it now that she stood before him and accepted his proposal… or, well, his council’s proposal. She had a feeling he didn’t come up with the idea, neither supported it.

“Most ironic, but I will not deny that it is beneficial for the both of us,” Ernaldus continued after Alys swallowed down the words which burned in her throat, the tone of his voice not fully sincere as he had to hold back on acting to his anger and annoyance,” your people will thrive under the banner of Brakmar.”

Ah, her shaking was starting to become hard to control. She huffed through her nose as she felt herself tremble, her staring wavering as her eyes slowly crept downwards to not look at the prince’s ghastly white complexion. It will be beneficial, but she hoped by her Goddess and any other God out there that someone would appreciate the sacrifice she was making. The children in Emrub, future Eliatropes or the Brakmarians… Anyone’s appreciation would suffice in making her feel like she wasn’t doomed to live a miserable life for the sake of others.

“Brakmar is ready to uphold their end of the proposed terms. The ceremony will be held in three days in the temple gardens. All we need is the Lady’s signature on official documents and,” the chamberlain cut his sentence in two to look at Alys’ left hand during the short pause,” a few measurements for the remaining preparations.”

Her fingers twitched when she felt the Huppermage’s eyes burn on her hand. He was talking about a ring… A small shackle which would bind her to the prince. How thoughtful. Alys nodded to show she understood and would do what was required, slowly retreating into her mind to not be affected any further. She felt numb and empty, and yet about to explode with so much anger and grief.

“Does Bonta have anything to declare as a witness to this union?”

The mention of the nation she adored and admired made her resistance crack, but it was the sound of Joris’ voice which clenched her stomach and increased the prickling behind her eyes. 

“None, aside from their congratulations. However, Bonta will not stand by idly if the wellbeing of the Eliatropes is put in jeopardy before or after the coronation.” And not just their wellbeing. He glanced to Alys and caught her peeking at him through the bangs which framed her face, her eyes and eyelashes trembling. If only she knew how tough it was to keep his composure, how tempting it was to swing his hammer around and whisk her away from this place. He was hoping for adventure the day before, but this was not what he had in mind.

A sly smile crept across the prince’s lips after Joris spoke. Bonta was powerless to stop this and it was incredibly satisfying. To see the master needing to behave and watch his step and tongue on Brakmarian soil was also a joy to witness. He wondered how long it will last. “But of course,” he said,” the Eliatropes will become valued denizens of Brakmar once all is said and done. Any reason for concern is mute.”

That remains to be seen. Joris’ eyes narrowed after the disbelief spiked. He didn’t trust anything or anyone here and the more the prince spoke, the more inviting his face became to punch. 

“While I am dying to get more acquainted with you, my dear,” he feigned towards Alys as he held his golden scepter and admired the shine and design of it,” other matters are far more important. Lecreft.” The female Huppermage responded to the calling of her name and stepped up next to Alys, looking extremely focused to await what her liege would say. “I’ll take it you have groveled before your future queen and apologized for the misunderstanding two years prior?”

Timinne’s golden eyes flashed with a glance repulsion and agitation though spoke slow as if hesitating to do so, the corners of her mouth pointing sharply downwards,” yes, Sire…”

“Excellent. You will be the Lady’s chaperone henceforth. You are to accompany her wherever she goes and see to her needs together with any ladies-in-waiting that are available. You are to keep her in line and groom her to be the most appropriate wife a Brakmarian ruler is befitting of. Is this clear, Lecreft?”

The look the two women exchanged was all but approving but Timinne nodded before she straightened her back to stand tall and proud and said coldly,” crystal, my Liege.” Her disgruntlement oozed from every word, the humiliation she endured making her hate every second of being in the Eliatrope’s presence. 

She is a Brakmar loyalist, an inquisitor which excels as an interrogator; she is a name to be reckoned with. She rips secrets from people’s flesh, deals agony in the name of Brakmar and crushes souls and spirits alike for fun and work, her records long and with hardly any fail. And now she’s reduced to being the Eliatrope’s babysitter, to leash her and yet obediently follow her around, to be at her beck and call? How much more punishment did she have to take before Brakmar would be satisfied?

The glare she shot Alys was sharp and filled with resentment but she didn’t see it. Sense it perhaps, for the glare and anger were almost as hot as the sun, but not see it. The Eliatrope had diverted her gaze back down to the floor, thoughtfulness shimmering within the color of turquoise. There were many questions burning on her lips and far too much she wanted to say but she had to tread carefully. 

“Is it possible, for all our sakes, to request a different chaperone?”

Timinne nearly broke her neck with how fast she turned her head and stared at Alys with an open mouth, looking absolutely shocked while rendered speechless by the Eliatrope’s audacity to be this bold. She had to stop herself from grabbing her arm and pull her closer, instead leaning in before she hissed through clenched teeth,” you think I can’t handle it?”

Alys looked startled at Timinne’s frustration, having thought she would be content with not needing to be her caretaker, or to have a kindred spirit in not wishing to be in each other’s presence. Did she assume wrong? “No…” Alys said honestly, her voice soft and without sarcasm or mockery as she was sincere,” but I believe you’d rather stab me in the back than watch it.” Timinne was against this whole endeavor since she set foot in Bonta the day before, unable to hide it. She mentioned being punished for her past actions. Whatever did Brakmar do to her after Alys and her companions fled from this wretched city to escape her wrath? Why was this hatred towards any Eliatrope so strong and refused to wither and die? Was it something which ran far deeper?

The Huppermage’s red lips curled up and showed her teeth while her eyes grew in size and her pupils shrunk after Alys was honest but blunt, her chest swelling as the truth was insulting... no matter true. The sound of igniting flames sounded when she clenched her hand and caused fire to dance across the leather of her glove in the flaring of her anger, her voice low as she growled,” how dare y--!”

“Mind what you say next to my darling wife-to-be, Lecreft,” the prince cut in, silencing the black haired woman. Her vexed expression twitched after she unintentionally turned her glare towards Ernaldus, the flames she summoned shrinking and turning blue before they dispersed. The looks of disapproval she received from the prince, general and chamberlain were enough for her to back away from Alys with a single step and a held back snarl, her loyalty towards the crown staying her hand.

Joris released a small breath and lessened the tight grip on the handle of his mallet after the Huppermage seemed to listen, a foul taste lingering in his mouth. Who in their right mind would pair these two up while knowing what transpired between them in the not too distant past? It felt like a sick game the prince was playing on the side, a game Joris didn’t approve of. He hated he was forced to look on and let this happen. His promise to act as Alys’ guardian and watch over her was crumbling with each second she was in Brakmar.

“You two will work it out,” Ernaldus continued after things settled down ever so slightly, speaking solely to Alys after the Eliatrope barely collected herself,” Lecreft knows what is to happen should she turn traitor and, well… You have your qualities, my dear. You have a knack for wrapping others around your finger without much effort. I am certain you and Lecreft will be the bestest of friends before the coronation takes place.”

The soft clearing of the general’s throat made the prince’s grin die off, his expression growing stale as the tall Brakmarian leaned in to whisper to him with a hushed voice. He listened halfheartedly before annoyance flickered across his white powdered face, the whispered reminder to behave and treat his future bride kinder not received too well. 

“Very well,” he mumbled before he caught sight of the Bontarian master and the chilling aura he emitted, the ambassador a silent but judgmental presence which was watching everything closely with a silent but deafening resentment. Perhaps a little too closely. He scoffed at the thought before speaking up, taking a risk,” Gard, escort our honorable guest to the guest chambers and inform him of his privileges during his stay in Brakmar. The Lady and I will tend to the required paperwork in order to fortify our engagement.”

Ah, there it was. He wasn’t impressed or amused when he saw Alys turn to Joris after he was indirectly excused and cleverly removed from the negotiations with a single order, the look on her face betraying she didn’t agree with his decision. They were too close for his taste and it would be most unfortunate if their closeness would get in the way of his coronation. Soon the master has no valid reason to stick around Brakmar any longer, which was something Ernaldus looked forward to.

Worry washed over Alys when her eyes met his after Joris glanced her way, worry for losing the one person who kept her grounded in this nightmare. Her lips parted when he turned around to take his leave and follow Gard to another part of the castle, yet no words were said. This wasn’t like the moment they shared inside the carriage or all those other times they supported each other; they couldn’t say what was on their mind. It wasn’t like that anymore… The hand she had slightly raised towards him as if to plead him to stay lowered along with her shoulders and wings in defeat, knowing he had to listen to the prince and that she should do the same.

She didn’t respond instantly when she was invited over towards the throne, her whole being focused on the back of the small master until the blue of his coat was no longer visible. She lulled her eyelids and softly sighed through her nose once he was gone from sight, feeling outnumbered in the great hall. 

This wasn’t right…

Her eyes narrowed at the penetrating thought, her heart pounding in her chest as she had to try with all her might to not fall apart into a pile of misery and hopelessness. She counted to five before she forced herself to start walking, each step heavier than the last. A chair and a small side table were placed beside the rather impressive and expensive looking throne of the prince, the royal seating covered in golden bone and skull ornaments. A stack of papers was present on the table, awaiting her and Ernaldus’ signatures to seal the deal she wanted to have no part in.

For the future. For the children. 

Right...

She sat down in the offered chair before resting her gaze on the cursive writing of the documents, not taking in the meaning of the words she glanced over. Even the words Ernaldus spoke sounded like a conjoined mumbled mess, her senses blocking anything related to the betrothal out. Look at him… He looked so full of himself.

The prince shone with pride as he grinned and kept on rambling after he believed he had her full attention with the master gone, probably boasting or sliding more insults or distasteful jokes her way. She won’t ever love him, will she?

Another sigh left her as she knew the answer to her own question. It had been a little more than two years since they first met and he never even tried to rectify his miserable first impression. He never changed or showed promise to improve, so why should she expect he will after marrying her? Three days… Goddess, it was far too short for her opinion on him to change, be it by him or herself. This was a disaster.

Alys frowned when she noticed she was being looked at, having lost track of what the prince was talking about even though she wasn’t listening in the first place. Ernaldus looked agitated but expectantly, as if expecting an answer or response from her to whatever he said. Marvelous… The faint apologetic smile she gave him was met with a narrowing of his eyes before she said as she pressed her hands down onto her lap and sat up more,” I am sorry, it has been a long day.”

“Just sign the damn papers,” he grumbled after realizing she didn’t hear all about his kingly visions for the future, mostly selfish talks about being richer, more powerful, admired and a far greater king than Theron. Perhaps a good thing she didn’t hear it… He was nothing like Theron and never will be.

She pulled a face at his childish reaction, guessing this is but a taste of what their relationship and life together will be like. She shook her head and picked up the quill to get things over with, this time allowing the writing to make sense so she won’t blindly agree to something stupendous. “I hope you will treat me kinder once I am your wife,” she dared to say after finding all which was promised to her people after the union is sealed, the documents proof of the genuineness behind Brakmar’s proposal. Still, she couldn’t help but feel there was a catch.

“Maybe if you lose the sass and sense of entitlement,” he mumbled before the rough clearing of the general’s throat made him roll his eyes and change his tune... a little,” _of course_ I will.” He shifted in his throne to look down at Alys with his chin and small nose pointed upwards, his mascara and eyeliner laced eyes almost closed. “You’ll get whatever a Brakmarian lady desires; that should keep you content.”

“Yes, of course… Whatever a Brakmarian lady desires,” she repeated a little dryly, not considering herself to be remotely close like someone from Brakmar. She will be the queen of a nation which values coin, crime, power and demon worship. What more could she possibly ask for? Affection was useless, right?

Goddess, this is not what she wanted. He truly didn’t understand anything about a loving and healthy relationship, did he? No wonder he is this selfish. She wisely kept her thoughts to herself as she placed her signature wherever it was required, the chamberlain showing more consideration towards her than the prince could ever muster as he pointed out what needed her attention or quietly approved when she did it correctly. He was a very small beacon of compassion in this mess, even though he only did it to not agitate his prince further.

Ernaldus watched her go through the paperwork for a short while, the boredom and impatience he felt showing through his fidgeting with his scepter and the hums and little sighs he released. The stack was growing thinner, to his glee and it wasn’t until the last three remaining pages that he spoke up. “Lecreft will show you to your chambers and introduce you to your ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens when you’re done. We’re done here for tonight.”

Done? Alys looked up from reading with a raised brow, the ink-stained tip of the quill hovering over the paper. She blinked as he stood up from his throne and tugged on his oversized fur-trimmed robe and adjusted his crown before heading towards the doors at the end of the hall. Was he going to leave it at that? No attempt to console her or get to know her a little better, discuss what the future holds or what he has in store for her and her people?

She was perplexed as she stared after him, the fact no goodbye or goodnight was shared making the whole situation skewed, awkward and painfully uncomfortable. This obviously was a strong taste of what was to come and it made her feel incredibly lonely and upset. A good thing her brothers weren’t here to witness it or else Brakmar would have a dragon scorned prince…

A grimace twisted her face and forced her to refocus on the remaining documents, not wanting to break down while she was closely watched by the chamberlain and her newly appointed chaperone. All she could hope for was a light in the darkness she needed to face but it became more and more difficult to remain optimistic. She didn’t want to face the facts, however. Surely there was something in this nightmare which would make it worthwhile, other than land and resources for her people?

The ink she wrote her name with was as black as her thoughts. It was hopeless no matter how she looked at it. Pray for a miracle, that was all she could do… and she would, with all her heart.

**To be continued.**


	5. Little Secrets

 

“You will stand in His Highness’ shadow, not by his side unless he grants you permission to do so. When in his presence, you do not speak unless spoken to and you will not interfere with his decisions,” Timinne’s voice sounded down the hallway as she led the Eliatrope through the castle, an orb of light floating over the gloved hand she held up to keep Brakmar’s natural darkness at bay.  

The Huppermage’s instructions were fairly clear, a long laundry list of what Alys could or couldn’t do while living as Ernaldus’ wife in Brakmar, the “couldn’t”s outweighing the “could”s. While a Brakmarian queen can be powerful if their ruling husband fancies them enough, the pecking order in this society was heavily based on male empowerment. That wasn’t to say women had no say in things, for there were plenty positions within the Brakmarian borders which were occupied by the fairer sex, strong women who ran things with iron fists and excellent leadership and who were respected by many. Unfortunately, in the royal court, the prince was in charge and he refused to be outmatched by a woman, including his own wife-to-be.

Alys absentmindedly eyed the leather-clad hand Timinne held up, the orb of light gravitating around the tip of her index finger. Timinne was excessive in telling her what she was or wasn’t allowed to do and what was expected of her, rattling every point and instruction off to get it over with swiftly. While listening half-heartedly because she felt mentally numb by the situation, it came to Alys’ attention that the black-haired Huppermage came a finger short. The pale light of the orb highlighted the stumpy ring finger quite well and kept drawing the eye of the Eliatrope, intrigue distracting her.

“Have you been married before, Lady Lecraft?”

The question left her before it dawned on her she spoke one of her ponders out loud, the abrupt turning of Timinne’s whole body and the extinguishing of the orb startling Alys. They stared at each other while standing in the gloom of the hallway after Timinne’s sudden reaction forced them to a halt, the Huppermage’s glare turning quickly down to her right hand and the missing finger after catching Alys looking away from it. The look in her golden eyes became more spiteful before she leaned closer to the Eliatrope and said under her breath with a bite to her voice,” don’t call me Lady.” She tightly clenched her hand and reignited the orb to scare the darkness away before she slowly turned her back on Alys while her eyes stayed on her,” and don’t ask stupid questions.” 

She started to walk again with a steady pace and a stiff back, though Alys lingered a little rather than following after her chaperone, her gaze resting on the floor. She would have apologized if her relationship with Timinne wasn’t so rocky, guessing the answer to her question was a yes. 

“She was married once. To a Bontarian.”

The disembodied voice sounding behind her made Alys spin around to see who was there, at first finding the dark hallway to be empty until a figure stepped out from an archway which was nearly hidden behind thick curtains. His white mask stood out in the dark and made her heart skip a beat, recognizing who it was. Was Gard on his way to meet the prince after he escorted Joris to the guest chambers or was he sneaking about? She threw a quick glance into Timinne’s direction but the Huppermage carried on as if unaware of what was happening, marching down the hallway. 

Gard didn’t step closer as he remained where he was, though his eyes were set on Alys as he watched her intently from behind his mask. “One of her few shames,” he continued,” she won’t ever speak of it to someone like you so don’t bother trying.”

“And why are you telling me this...?”

“Because you deserve to know the woman you were forced onto.”

Alys frowned at Gard’s reasoning, the light shaking of her head betraying he confused her. “I am surprised you care,” she says quietly as she slightly squinted her eyes and tilted her chin up, looking the Masqueraider up and down with a hint of suspicion. This is a murderer, a man who kills in cold blood or is willing to do so. It shocked her to learn that the man who tried to kill her worked for Brakmar, that this nation’s ruler trusts him and sicks him onto deeds she’d rather not think of. To be alone in his presence was frightening but she refused to run.

He shrugged as he turned his gaze away from her. “It is my duty to keep my queen content. If that means a little gossip so she can relate better to the people she needs to get along with, then so it is.”

She inwardly scowled. “But I am not your queen.”

“Not yet, no,” Gard answered monotonically,” but it would be a shame if the wedding and coronation wouldn’t come to pass because of feuds. You are meant for this.” 

The little hairs on the back of her neck rose after hearing his words, a shiver accompanying the sense of unease. He sounded serious and sincere and yet she couldn’t help but feel as though there was a threat looming behind it all. She couldn’t tell if it was a compliment, though she surely didn’t take it as one. She wasn’t meant to marry into this madness like it was foretold by some sage, as if it was her destiny. 

“Lecreft lost her husband the day she lost her finger. Can you guess why?” 

What was he doing? A trembling breath slipped through the narrow opening between her lips, the confusion she felt only building after Gard changed the subject back to the Huppermage’s past. “I don’t…” Her voice died off and left her sentence incomplete, uncertain if she should try to answer his question. This wasn’t right, and unfair. It was already surreal enough that a man who was previously eager to drown her was acting casual with her, but to have him also try and make her warm up to the woman who wants to see all Eliatropes eradicated only made the surrealness worse. 

“It was becau--”

“Don’t.” Alys cut him off with a raising of her hand, her eyes closed as if it would block out anything he would say next. “You don’t have the right to share this with me, neither do I want you to. Now, if you will excuse me… I lost sight of my chaperone.” She didn’t care if he could see her tremble after she lowered the hand and began to turn around, neither if he picked up on the feigned confidence in her voice. She shouldn’t be alone with him, her instincts were screaming and she was going to listen to them.

The Masqueraider stood motionless after Alys started to walk away, his voice quiet,” very well. A word of advice.” His voice picked up in volume to be heard better when it became obvious it was no longer just the two of them in the hallway, a distant but advancing light casting long moving shadows across the walls and floor. “Whatever you do, do not bring up her husband or her father,” he said before he focused on Timinne after the Huppermage came hurrying their way with stomping feet and a face full of anger,” it won’t be good for your health.”

“ _Gard_!” Timinne’s voice was sharp and echoed down the hallway but it didn’t stop Gard from leaving. She looked after him after she stepped up to Alys before she grabbed the Eliatrope by her arm and yanked her closer. “What exactly did that filthy rat tell you?” She was loud and demanding, a fire lit in her eyes while the grip on Alys’ arm was firm and painful. “ _Well_?”

She had to stand her ground and not let Timinne treat her this way, Alys knew this all too well, but this woman terrified her. The flashing imagery of Fernand’s injuries* at the hands of this woman rid her of the courage she so desperately needed. Yet… “Unhand me,” she stammered, her voice far too soft and her resistance meek but the look in her eyes made up for it. It was hard, fluctuating because of the lasting fear, but hard. It made the Huppermage’s anger waver ever so slightly when their gazes crossed and locked, the grip on her arm lessening as they leered at one and another.

“Forget it,” she eventually hissed with deep detest to not question the Eliatrope any further and drop the subject of Gard’s sneaky behavior, giving Alys’ arm one final pull to force her to continue walking and pull her ahead to not let her out of her sights again. 

Alys stumbled ever so slightly, the tug and shove hardly having any strength to it which was surprising. Was the Huppermage holding back or was she done with being aggressive towards her? It could be any reason, like the caution to not cross her future queen or get on the prince’s bad side any further. Those reasons seemed more plausible than Timinne warming up to her or setting her dislike towards Eliatropes aside.

A Bontarian… She wouldn’t have guessed, not with how strongly Timinne supported Brakmar. Gard said she lost her husband on the same day she lost her finger, so… death? Did he die? She shook her head to not get distracted by little guesses and a past she had no business dabbling in, needing to worry about herself. What kind of plot was she thrown into?

With no answers or a satisfying ending, the two women continued onwards to Alys’ assigned chambers while the man who caused some turmoil quietly sealed a door behind him, the darkness no longer clinging to his dark attire as the room he had entered was well lit by the glow of lava from outside. The murmur of voices welcomed him as he made his way further inside to join the silhouettes of the prince and his trustworthy general.

“Ah, Gard, you return. Is Jurgen taken care of?”

“I left him in his chamber with two guards posted by the door,” Gard answered after he joined the two men in the center of the room, the smell of hot molten metal hanging in the air as the volcanic view overruled the atmosphere and scenery,” dinner was brought to him shortly after and he accepted it.”

Ernaldus slowly spun his scepter between his fingers with certain thought before asking the Masqueraider,” and did he also eat it, or drink the wine?”

“Uncertain but the chances he has or will within the next few hours are high.”

“Good,” the prince mused before tapping the hand-shaped end of his scepter against his palm,” he’ll be sound asleep till morning. Do make certain the drug is administered every dinner we serve him. That will keep him from sticking his preposterous nose from where it shouldn’t be during his stay. Now.” He turned his attention to the general. “Onto the other issue present in this castle. Did she sign everything?”

The black-lipped Brakmarian nodded. “Chamberlain made certain of it. The paperwork is in the possession of your councilors and being approved and validated as we speak. The negotiations were a success.”

“That remains to be seen. After today there are two days left until my coronation. Two days may not seem like much but it is plenty of time for things to go wrong. I won’t lay much faith in my council’s repetitive reassurances as long as that crown isn’t on my head and my people address me as king.”

“It will go smoothly, My Liege. You can look forward to what you will gain from this.”

Ernaldus would have scoffed at the general if his reassurances hadn’t kicked his imagination into gear. He nodded, slow at first until it became quicker and more eager. “I’ve waited long enough for it,” he said proudly, as if his impatience had been bearable for everyone involved… which it hadn’t,” I would have picked a different bride, however.”

More complaints about the female Eliatrope. His whiny self couldn’t stop yammering on and on about the council’s suggestion to marry the Eliatrope. “She looks good by your side, My Liege,” the general said while withholding a sigh as he felt like he was repeating himself, which he was,” and she brings power to Brakmar.”

“Indeed. The Eliacube may no longer be among our midst, but their Dofus…” He hummed thoughtfully as he pondered something, the sound high pitched and jarring until he looked in between the Masqueraider and general. “Were our spymaster and mercenaries ever successful in tracking down that brown Dofus which was rumored to belong to her?” His attention was mostly on Gard, the Masqueraider having failed in his task to retrieve the Dofus after Royale stole it from the Prince’s grasp**. Gard returned empty-handed, which was a great disappointment, but at least he had good news to somewhat make up for it. The thief, Royale, was disposed of and wouldn’t be a bother to Brakmar any longer.

Gard didn’t answer Ernaldus as he stood silent, his mask hiding his thoughts from the onlookers. It was the general who took it on himself to answer the question, saying as he shook his head,” not even close. It is like it disappeared from the face of this world.”

“Just like the other Eliatrope Dofus, hm?” Ernaldus asked with pursed lips,” the Eliatropes know how to keep secrets, I’ll give them that.”

“Once your marriage is validated and set in stone, those secrets will be yours.”

Ernaldus scoffed with a haughty chuckle, sounding mocking as he looked at his general. “As if she’ll share anything with me. You know her excuses; she can’t remember anything and her king is a helpless dumb little sixteen-year-old boy,” he said with batting eyelashes and an overdone feminine voice to crudely mimic Alys. “The day she indulges me is the day this world burns, mark my words,” he said more gruffly,” I am aware that I’m saddled up with her because of the power the Eliatropes possess and that it is all this marriage is good for, but that won’t miraculously make her or her king cooperate.” 

“Perhaps,” the general tried with some reluctance as he knew this would get followed with backlash,” you should court her, get in her graces?” He straightened up a bit with pressed together lips when the prince shot him a glare, the two staring at each other before he nervously continued to explain his reasoning,” Brakmar needs repayments for the resources we will give the Eliatropes once everything is said and done. We _need_ her to warm up to you and Brakmar, My Liege, so she can convince her king to grant us their full support. Without question. And, well…” He broke a sweat as the prince continued to glare at him, his next words spoken rather quickly,” an Eliatrope heir would only strengthen the allegiance further.”

“ _I know_.” Venom dripped from his voice after Ernaldus took a deep breath through his nose to try and stay calm, his mood completely sour. “You were right about one thing, my dear General… Luckily for her, her looks are quite appealing. It will make this easier for me. However, the first thing which needs to happen is my coronation and I only have two days to prevent her from changing her mind and ruining it for me. Once that ring is on her finger and the crown on my head, claiming the Dofus will be the next target. The Eliatropes will prove their usefulness to me, even if that means I have to pamper that woman for the rest of my life.”

No planned assassinations, no staged “accidents”. While it was obvious Brakmar’s goal behind the arranged marriage was power through Eliatrope means, it was good to have it confirmed Alys’ life wasn’t in danger. For now, at least. The suspicion this whole marriage was a ruse and might cost the Eliatropes their lives was sated for the time being but there was enough left to worry about. 

Joris’ eyes narrowed as he listened to the two voices coming from the open balcony doors, his small figure hidden in the shadows along the castle wall. He sat like a gargoyle throughout the whole conversation, having overheard most of it. While he wasn’t charmed to hear about Brakmar’s plans with him or Alys, he continued to be focused to not let his own feelings and thoughts get in the way of his duties. 

“But enough about wooing her,” the prince said after he began to wander through his chambers and placed his scepter onto a velvet cushion,” the plan will continue tomorrow.”

The small master slightly turned his head to glance at the large shadow sitting kneeled beside him when the Brakmarian prince began to prepare for bed, whispering,” return to the others and inform them about what we heard. I will head back to the guest quarters before anyone notices I am missing.” He refocused on the balcony below when the hulking shadow quietly moved away after receiving the order, soon left by himself and his brooding thoughts as everyone within the prince’s chambers retreated for the night.

\--------------------~*~--------------------

The door slammed loudly shut behind her after Alys was told to not leave her room throughout the night and wait for Timinne to return in the morning, the echoing sound making her flinch. She held her breath while she stood with clenched hands, closed eyes and stiff shoulders, a pressing silence following after the slamming of the door. She slowly opened her eyes after she breathed out, finding herself to be alone.

The room the Huppermage shoved her into was large, excruciatingly large, and fairly empty. If it weren’t for the lava rivers which surrounded the castle like a naturally formed mote and the constant light it provided, the room would have been pitch black and dark, the lava basking the room in an orange glow and many shadows. There was hardly any furniture present, the far back of the room the only part which had some decorational thought put into it. An enormous bed, a dresser, a divider and a makeup table with a stool were present, but that was truly it. There was no desk, no sofa or chair, no nightstands, no paintings or banners, absolutely nothing which could add a sense of homeyness. It wasn’t the furniture which drew her eye, however.

She slowly approached the back of the room while she took in a feminine shape standing by the makeup table, the orange glow which fell in through the tall windows highlighting the black dress. 

Her wedding gown.

Alys grimaced as she unwillingly examined the gown which was presented on a sewing mannequin, the color of it as black as the night. It was sleek and tight around the torso and hips, its black color accentuated with white spotted fur which adorned the sleeves and hem of the skirt, and a quite long and layered back portion which was the bridal train of the sleek gown, the color of it bloodred. A fur collar which was of preposterous size curved around the mannequin’s shoulders and was held together by a golden skull ornament presented at the front of the gown bustier, adding the finishing touch. The taste of it was very unlike her, the gown and its color palette breathing the Brakmar’s royal fashion style.

She sat herself down on the edge of the bed while she kept her eyes on the gown, the reality of the situation becoming heavy and prominent now that she was alone. The wedding gown was screaming the truth at her even though it stood silently like a black lifeless and headless silhouette against an orange backdrop, a reminder of what was to come and what she was forced into.

Brakmar came prepared. They were counting on her accepting the proposal and were following their plan step by step. What was the next step? What exactly was Brakmar planning with all this? Where was Joris in this castle? Was he nearby? Was he alright? Was there a chance to talk with him in private or was that over? Did her brothers get home safe? Did Alibert receive the news? Were they angry with her? Has Baltazar picked up on what she was doing for his and the children’s future? Did they all approve?

It was difficult to silence the tidal wave of questions, or to silence the blame. Resentment tasted bitter and burned, anger and sadness mixed and made the world around her spin.

Alys began to visibly shudder when the emotions she had held back throughout this day started to poke her in the back with sharp claws and harsh bites, unable to fight it all back any longer. She hunched and huddled into her shoulders as she brought her shaking hands up to her face to hide herself and her tears from the world, soon sobbing into her hands after she finally crumbled.

She truly believed she was alone in the hollow room but that was far from the truth. There were whispers coming from the shadows, far too quiet to be picked up on by someone who felt lost but such was the intention. Voices were speaking hushed to one and another while four pairs of eyes watched the mourning Eliatrope from the dark rafters and corners.

“How many guards are present?”

“Two stationed outside and four further down the hall.”

“She’s crying.”

“Of course she is. Wouldn’t you if you had to marry that meek ass powder box?”

“I sure would.”

“I might, maybe?”

“Focus,” one of the voices said sternly before it continued speaking,” I don’t believe there will be trouble tonight if there are this many guards stationed outside her room.”

“Perhaps I should console her, lend her my beautiful ear and my gorgeous strong shoulder to cry on.”

“I don’t think so, Dee. You’ll poke her eyes out with those bony shoulders of yours.”

“I said, focus.” 

The other three voices grew silent after the reminder was given by the fourth voice, the Eliatrope’s sobbing the only sound present soon after. The four hidden figures returned their attention to Alys, watching her sit hunched over on the edge of the bed with her forehead pressed against her knees and her hands still clasped over her face.

It was difficult to watch someone suffering and it was why one of the four began to stir after a while of uncomfortably observing. “Yeah, no. I can’t do this,” the figure whispered before they dropped down from the rafter they were perched on, their landing silent and light. They remained in the shadows to not give themselves away to the Eliatrope, slinking towards one of the six pillars which divided the room into three sections.

“What are you doing? Come back here,” the more mature voice hissed disapprovingly,” we need to stay hidden.”

The dark figure looked up to where the voice came from, whispering back while they motioned towards the crying woman with an extended hand,” and what she needs is a friend.”

Any further objections were stubbornly ignored as the figure left the cover of the pillar and stepped into the glow of the lava, a caution in their step as they slowly walked over towards the bed. There was movement behind them, probably one of the others who wanted to run after them to drag them back into the shadows. Nothing happened, however. The others remained hidden to not alert the future queen of Brakmar of their presence, intently watching what would happen next.

“It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

The question made Alys flinch and quickly raise her head from her hands to look to where the sudden and unfamiliar voice came from, seeing a masked figure standing in the dimly lit room. There was no ill intent tied to the voice, in fact, there was an indication of a small smile hidden behind the question but paranoia made it difficult to comprehend. Alys was swift to stand up, the palm of her hands glowing with Wakfu while she stared at the uninvited stranger through a curtain of tears.

The feminine figure rose her hands as she came closer, saying as she stepped into the light which fell through one of the windows to show herself,” don’t be alarmed. I’m a friend.” She gestured towards her plated chest, the engravings on the silver armor glinting in the warm glow of the volcanic scenery. She could read the confusion which overtook the startle written on Alys’ face, the Eliatrope recognizing the tree-like symbol which was presented on the chest armor.

“You’re…” Bonta. Alys couldn’t hold back on the surprise she felt, the rapid blinking of her eyes and her pursed lips betrayings he was stupefied. It wasn’t just Joris who came with her to Brakmar? There were others? 

“A friend,” the stranger repeated to finish Alys’ incomplete sentence before she undid the cowl and mask which hid her features. She hooked a finger behind the blue cloth which covered the lower half of her face to pull it down while at the same time drawing back the fabric cowl and the silver star-shaped diadem attached to it, revealing a warm smile, tanned skin, short lilac hair and a long scar which ran from her forehead into the combed back hair. “Theron sends his regards.”

The king… Alys slumped back onto the bed as many questions began piling up in her head and overwhelmed her, the waving of her hands and the frowning of her brows a quiet display of the confusion she was wandering through. “He--he sent you?”

“To look after things, yeah,” the lilac-haired woman said before she sat beside Alys, acting rather friendly,” you didn’t think Bonta would just drop you off in this Boowolf den without any precautions, did you? Master Joris may be amazing but he can’t be in several places at once.”

“He knows you’re here?”

The woman laughed under her breath with a jerking of her shoulders, appearing to be a little amused,” of course he does. Even if the spymaster hadn’t told him of our presence here, he would have figured it out within minutes of arriving. He’s difficult to outsmart.” She leaned a little closer to whisper while a small grin played across her pale colored lips, a glint shimmering in her lavender eyes and skull-shaped pupils,” trust me, we tried.”

“We?” Alys had to admit to herself that she was intrigued by this unexpected turn in events. She didn’t feel threatened at all by the stranger. In fact, it was pleasant to finally have someone to just talk with. It was comfortable and… nice, a moment of respite amidst the terror that was this arranged marriage. It was even better because it felt like the woman was interested in casually chatting rather than make her night more miserable. She assumed the woman was a Sram with how her white pupils looked, one of those visual traits which were a part of worshipping Sram. She never thought she would meet a friendly one, not with their reputation.

“Well, I didn’t exactly come here alone,” the stranger said before she turned her head to look to where she came from, the smile she held growing a little when someone else stepped out of the shadow of the pillar she had taken cover behind earlier, as if on cue. 

The look on the man’s face was stern but with a soft edge, wearing the same attire as his female companion. He lingered on the very edge of the shadows, his mask and cowl undone to no cause any fright in the already riled up Eliatrope. He nodded for Alys when she peeked his way, remaining where he was to not intrude though he seemed a little pensive when the woman continued talking.

“When Brakmar’s intentions became clear during their visit to Bonta, Theron was quick to seek advice from spymaster Bestor. Me and my team were sent off immediately to Brakmar to infiltrate the castle and unravel the true reasons behind these… negotiations.” She turned her gaze towards the mannequin and the gown, her thin eyebrows knitted together into a disapproving scowl. “We were supposed to stay hidden from you, but… you know. I couldn’t just stand there and watch you deal with this alone. It’s wrong. This is wrong,” she said as she gestured towards the mannequin,” I am sorry you’re going through this.”

“Thank you…”

The women exchanged a smile after Alys expressed gratitude for the stranger’s care and explanations before they glanced towards the man when he came closer with another person trailing closely behind him. “The secret of our presence here is of the utmost importance. While we are only here until you have exchanged your vows with Ernaldus and his coronation had ended, we need to stick to the shadows and make certain everyone’s safety is not at risk. If Brakmar finds out Bonta sent people to spy on them and the preparations for the ceremonies, it isn’t just you or your people who will feel the backlash.”

Alys nodded as she understood the severity of the situation. She was already humbled to know she had people watching her back, even if it was temporary. These were people she could trust, a little shimmer of hope in this awful nightmare. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” she said with a light shaking of her head,” thank you so much, sir.”

“Maddock,” the ginger-haired and bearded man said to introduce himself after she called him by a title which felt unsuitable for the likes of him,” though Theron deserves all the credit and gratitude. We simply follow his and Bestor’s orders.” His expression became stern once more when a whisper sounded behind him, a whisper meant for him. He glanced back over a shoulder to see another figure leaving the shadows to join him after she called his name, another Bontarian spy who wore the same attire as the others though without the mask and cowl undone.

She was a little shorter than the present Srams and curvier too but that definitely didn’t get in the way of her moving quietly, her every step and movement silent. She leaned against the other masked presence which had followed Maddock out of the shadows, a rather spindly fellow, before she said hushed,” Bernal has returned with an update from Master Joris.”

“Good, that means it is time for us to go. Remember, Lady Alys,” he said as the others hurried back into the shadows to retreat,” not a word to anyone. We’ll be near and watching, even if you can’t see us. Come, Varessi.” He glanced at the woman seated next to Alys and beckoned for her to come along, not moving until she rose to a standing. 

She gave Alys one last smile before pulling her headgear back into place, reassuring her with a kind word,” we’ll see each other again very soon. Hang in there, okay?” 

“I’ll try.”

That was good enough for her. Varessi skipped on the spot with a light bounce as she nodded to Alys in goodbye before she pulled a sprint and ran alongside Maddock across the room, soon disappearing with him into the pitch black shadows and leaving Alys behind by herself.

The silence which followed was less heavy than before and less lonely too. While the wedding gown remained a foul reminder of what was going to happen, meeting these four strangers was replenishing and an eye-opener. Things seemed less dire, even though they still were. A soft sigh of relief left her.

She wasn’t alone. Thank the Goddess.

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Traces, chapters 22 to 24.  
> **: See Traces, chapter 25.


	6. Reputation

  


Morning came far too soon. Sleep was hardly gained, the faint dark circles under her bloodshot eyes proof of it. Although the surprise meeting last night soothed her worries and calmed her mind, there were other thoughts which kept her up. Alys was scared of what was to come, the urge to flee and go into hiding burning stronger than the candle which kept her company throughout the night. It made her hands shaky and sweaty and her muscles stiff when she tried to convince herself to face the day and give things a chance, almost failing to stomp out the screaming inner voice.

She was halfway through getting dressed when a banging sounded against the far away bedroom door before the black haired Huppermage Timinne Lecreft came barging in without an apology or greeting, the expression she carried one of annoyance. Close behind her were two shrouded women who hastily entered the room to not lessen the distance between themselves and the Huppermage, the door soon closed behind them.

“You won’t be wearing that color anymore,” Timinne said after giving a half-undressed Alys an inspecting glance before she roughly urged the Eliatrope towards the back of the room with a snap of her fingers and a nudging hand, impatience staining her actions,” tradition states you will dress appropriately to the standards of a Brakmarian fiance, a royal one at that.”

Alys looked offended but also bewildered before getting shoved behind the wooden and golden divider, saying a little bitter while standing with her back towards Timinne and her arms crossed to keep her partially undone blue gown in place,” good morning…” 

Her greeting was stiffly ignored as her chaperone gestured towards the two women who followed her inside, their faces, thoughts, and faith hidden behind red veils which matched their simplistic red dresses. The faint visage of a golden skull was woven onto the veil, giving the women a Brakmarian but eerie vibe. “These are your assigned ladies-in-waiting, daughters of noblemen loyally serving the royal court,” Timinne explained,” they will dress, accompany and prepare you from this day forward. See them as your handmaidens who are at your beck and call whenever you aren’t in His Highness’ presence.”

“That is… considerate,” Alys said with some trouble after she looked the two veiled women over, uncomfortable to speak her mind,” but I have no need for handmaidens.” To be served felt wrong, as simple as that. Alys was too humble and caring to demand of others to do her bidding, especially while able to do things herself. She had nothing against servants per say. On the contrary, some servants of the Bontarian and Sadida courts were people she deeply respected and considered friends, but here in Brakmar… such servitude was different, like a form of slavery. She rather not indulge such if possible. 

“The council wills it,” Timinne retorted,” and it is tradition, something you do well to respect.” She shot a glare towards the two ladies-in-waiting, unable to take her frustrations out on Alys now that her ruler has his eyes set on her. 

The handmaidens seemed to stare back at her from behind their veil as if uncertain what the glare was about, a tense silence following before the tallest of the two quickly joined Alys behind the divider, the other handmaiden soon following the example. In their hands they held various pieces of clothing, all carefully selected by whoever believed the Eliatrope was in need of a style change. High heeled shoes, a gown, and an attachable hood, all in black and gold colors.

Alys didn’t say anything when she took a few steps back to make room for the two women but to also keep a distance, her face betraying what she thought of the situation and what she was brought. Her expression was somber after her gaze rested on the folded garment until a very quiet voice drew her out of her thoughts.

“It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

Wait… She heard that question before and fairly recently too. Alys frowned when a glint of recognition sparked to life, her gaze rising to stare at the red veil with the golden skull which hid the handmaiden’s face from her.

“Get her ready,” Timinne’s voice sounded as she stayed where she was and instructing the handmaidens on what needed to be done,” fast and proper.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Alys parted her lips to ask about the two women standing before her, though was silenced when the tallest one rose a finger and held it in front of her hidden mouth. Pursed lips became visible when the handmaiden lifted the veil, revealing tanned skin, a smile and lavender colored eyes with skull-shaped pupils. “Good morning,” the Sram from last night whispered, her smile growing when she caught Alys’ relief and surprise.

“Goddess, what are you doing here?”

“Looking after you, of course. A bit of a late introduction, sorry, but I’m Varessi and this is Reyna,” the Sram said quietly with a slight incline of her head towards the shorter and curvier woman who lifted her veil to show who she was to Alys. She was another Sram with the same pupils as Varessi, her large green eyes accentuated by the purple face paint which formed the visage of a skull. She shared a small smile and a nod in greeting with Alys before the red veil fell back before her face, staying quiet. “We are your so-called handmaidens,” Varessi continued to whisper,” though don’t let Miss Hothead know; she has no idea, thinks we are rich Brakmarian daughters of some guys. She doesn’t really care to get to know us or anyone working here, good thing too as it allows us to stay close to you and keep an eye on things.”

Undercover, that’s oddly exciting. This whole operation was pretty surreal and hard to believe though it was only logical Bonta would have a well-oiled intelligence service to keep an eye on things. Alys’ face brightened up with a newfound flicker of hope, saying as quietly as she could,” thank you...” 

Varessi nodded in appreciation though her smile began to die off. “Don’t thank us just yet. This might be difficult, but you have to pretend you don’t know us. Treat us like servants the best you can and keep any chit chat with either of us to a minimum. As long as our cover isn’t blown, we can keep you safe… At least until your wedding with Ernaldus.”

The wedding. The mention of it was like an ice pick stabbing Alys in the back, the flicker of hope she felt rapidly fading. Bonta may be here to look after her but they couldn’t and wouldn’t stop this arrangement between the Eliatropes and Brakmar, not as long as it was safe for everyone involved. The truth of the matter was a harsh one; aside from Joris, these Bontarian intelligence agents were solely doing their duty for the best interest of Bonta, not hers or that of the Eliatropes. At least this Sram seemed to care a little more than she should.

“What’s taking so long? It’s just a dress! Lace her into it already.”

Timinne’s sudden barking made the three women stir, the glances Alys and Varessi exchanged a silent agreement to take on the roles laid on them. Though the two Srams were pretending to be her personal servants, Alys dressed in the new garments and quickly too to avoid Timinne from growing impatient and discovering things she shouldn’t; an Eliatrope’s Wakfu wings. It was already difficult enough to not have the two Sram catch a glimpse while they pretended to help Alys get dressed.

Such a tight fit… perhaps a little too tight, even more so when Reyna started plucking on the lacing of the gown’s corset and tightened them to not have anyone grow suspicious about the Srams’ inexperience of being servants… or ladies. To keep up the pretend won’t be easy if Timinne was going to be nitpicky but as long as they tried to make things appear perfect, the chances of being found out should be far slimmer.

A glint of silver caught Alys’ attention when she stood stiff and with her breath held while she was getting laced into the black garment, her wide-eyed gaze resting on the blue gown Varessi was folding up. “Wait,” she whispered with a faint stammer and reached out for the Sram to stop her, causing both of the fake handmaidens to pause what they were doing. She quickly reached for the oval pin attached to the front of the gown she was no longer allowed to wear in the prince’s presence, undoing it while a solemn and thoughtful expression rested on her face. She tenderly cupped in her hands as if it was frail and alive, admiring it while she still could.

It was made from one of Nox’s devices which sucked the Wakfu from all the vegetation of Sadida.* While it was a morbid thought to know what the origin of the jewelry was, it was the same origin which brought her to this world and saved her. The pin wasn’t a reminder of the destruction the Xelor wrought, but of the connections she had made back then and a new beginning to a life she couldn’t even remember. Brakmar may try and strip her from her identity by removing the blue from her attire but this… No, the pin was far too special. 

Where could she keep it?

She looked herself over when Varessi continued to fold up her old clothes after they exchanged a quiet glance and weak smiles, the black dress and golden skull-shaped clips clashing with the silver and cyan of the pin. There would definitely be complaints if she was to wear it somewhere visible and it was a risk she was afraid to take. She refused to part with it, however. 

It was from _him_. It was his thoughtful gift to her and her alone, something special they shared and was their little secret. She wouldn’t let anyone take that away from her. Not the prince or even the Gods. She needed it to stay sane in this madness and mockery of a marriage, a little something from home she could find solace in.

An idea crossed her mind when Reyna’s continued tugging on the laces made her bangs sway, soon reaching into her hood to collect her thick hair and blindly braid it though she struggled a little without a mirror and needing to keep the hood on. 

Varessi stood and watched for a moment before she held a hand out and beckoned with two fingers for the pin Alys desperately held onto, her smile hidden behind the red veil. “Let me,” she whispered after she placed the folded clothes aside and leaned a little closer, almost tasting the Eliatrope’s reluctance,” I won’t peek at your hidden things, I promise.” 

Alys nodded after she shook off the hesitation and lay her pin in Varessi’s awaiting hand before the Sram reached into the hood and nimbly braided the Eliatrope’s hair with obvious experience, making quick work of it. She rolled the braid up into a bun before she attached the pin to keep it all together at the back of Alys’ neck, giving the jewelry a little hiding spot nobody would easily see or find.

“There, that should do,” Varessi nodded approvingly before she turned her head to glance towards the edge of the divider they were behind, the sounds of approaching footsteps alerting her. It seemed Timinne’s patience had run out. She shared a glance with her fellow spy to see if she was ready before she lay a hand on Alys’ shoulder and nudged her forward, the grateful smile she gave her surely not ignored but she couldn’t act to it now that the Brakmarian Huppermage was in earshot. 

It was time to continue the pretend.

“You took far too long,” Timinne said with clear annoyance when Alys stepped out from behind the divider with her two handmaidens close behind her, the lecture meant for all three of the women rather than just Varessi and Reyna,” be quicker the next time you prettify her or else there will be consequences. Understand?”

The two veiled women nodded without a word uttered, though it pleased Timinne well enough.

“You will escort the Eliatrope to the dining room where she will eat breakfast, alone,” she continued to tell the ladies-in-waiting what to do,” nobody else is to join her until her presence is requested during the citizens’ petitions during which she will sit by His Highness, be quiet and learn from the experience. You will not accompany her throughout the petitions but will be waiting for her return instead, when she is excluded from the council meeting His Highness will attend once the citizens have been dealt with. But don’t fret… She will be at her fiance’s side again shortly afterwards to have dinner with him.”

The latter sounded a little mocking to Alys, the mention of Ernaldus being her fiance making her stomach turn. Could she even keep breakfast down, let alone swallow it? She felt too miserable to think about eating but she obediently followed her handmaidens when they were led to another part of the castle without much delay, the schedule Timinne kept to on track.

It was a good thing breakfast was without the presence of the Brakmarian prince, or Alys’ snippy chaperone, the time alone with her fake handmaidens a moment of respite she was in desperate need of. It was indeed difficult to eat, as expected, and neither of the female Srams spoke a word to stay in character but she welcomed the little time she had to get her thoughts in order. While she thought about her future in Brakmar, the invasive and distracting thoughts about her family and loved ones kept lingering. Were the boys up already? Was life in Emelka continuing like normal? And where was Joris? She hadn’t seen the master ever since Gard escorted him to his chambers the night before. Hopefully he was alright…

Alys couldn’t catch a single hint of dark blue when she was brought to the throne room after breakfast was begrudgingly eaten, the Eliatrope keeping up the concerned search for a hint of Joris anywhere in the castle. She didn’t dare to ask about his whereabouts, the people she was with not exactly the supporting or caring types, neither did she believe they had the answer. Her armed escort was nothing but a pair of bored and underpaid Brakmarian guards who once hoped their service to the crown would be more glorious, the only upside of this measly task being the prominent and obvious cleavage of the woman they assumed to be Bontarian and of some importance.

Ernaldus was already waiting for her and so was Timinne, the Huppermage standing next to an empty cushioned chair which looked rather expensive, perhaps to not make it look like an afterthought while it stood beside the impressive throne. The Brakmarian woman was in her element, her attire perfectly matching the dark grey, red and golden interior of the throne room, the sword emblem on her shoulder pad the same as those embroiled on the tapestries and banners hanging from the walls and ceiling.

The wonder as to why she wasn’t chosen as the new queen crossed Alys’ mind, knowing no other woman who was as devoted to Brakmar as Timinne was. She knew the answer to her own wonder, however; Huppermages were a dime a dozen, no matter if they were as skilled as Timinne. Eliatropes were far more rare and exotic, not to mention powerful with the relics they possessed. Ironic. The one thing she despised outmatches her by far… at least when it comes to suitable candidates to be Ernaldus’ new wife and Brakmar’s lever to winning a future war. Would she even want to marry the prince?

She curtsied in formal greeting to the prince after her two escorts led her across the long carpet towards the elevated throne, feeling his eyes burning on her while she kept hers down. He said nothing when she understood Timinne’s instructing hand gesture to sit down in the cushioned chair, his gaze unwavering. He intently watched the light bouncing of the pillowy flesh forcefully pushed up and together within the black gown’s corset when she came closer and ascended the few steps before she sat next to him.

“Black suits you, my dear,” he said after clearing his throat and shifting in his throne when she caught him looking and met his gaze straight on, his attention turning to his familiar scepter.

The oddly placed compliment stirred nostalgia within her heart and brought her back to a time when she was unaware of the many secrets Brakmar had, a time when sneaking uninvited into a masquerade ball was one of the more exciting stunts she had done.* Times changed too quickly…

“Let us deal with some peasants and beggars, shall we?”

The heavy doors opened when Ernaldus gave the sign, a stream of various people droning in while shoving and pushing to not stand at the very back, all wanting to be noticed or have a better look at the rare sight of seeing someone sit beside their monarch. 

The chamberlain stepped forward while holding a long list of names and notes, having gone through several of the petitions beforehand to choose which ones would be worthy of the prince’s time. “Samwise Bullwarc,” he called out, the name causing someone to raise their arm before they elbowed their way through the gathered crowd. It was a lean and scruffy looking man, not even close to being elderly though the staff he held could have fooled anyone at a distance, his hair color betraying his Fecian faith. 

He looked nervous as he stepped forward before he clumsily bowed and stammered. “I am a Gobball farmer, Sire,” he began while he stared at the prince with large eyes,” I donate the milk and wool my Gobballs produce to the castle, selling only a small portion to sustain my family. Unfortunately, due to tragic circumstances, I-I won’t be able to keep up my donations. Y-you see… My Gobballs are wandering or falling into the lava rivers which are spreading through the northeastern fields of Pabong. I have lost half of my flock already and they just keep falling into the lava. It’s horrible.”

Eyebrows raised and wheezing laughter sounded from the present crowd, the look on Ernaldus’ face priceless as it was dumbfounded by what he heard.

“I-if His Majesty and his council would consider giving me new Gobballs to replace those I lost, I would be most grateful. We will continue our support and donations, of course, with more milk and wool than before. A few lambs is all I ask for.”

“Why pray tell me, are you keeping Gobballs on the volcanic outskirts of Sidimote?” Ernaldus grumbled while firmly rubbing his temple with slow circles, his annoyance dripping off him and his voice like venom.

“Ah, w-well you see, Sire--”

“You either move away from the volcano or you build a fence, you moron. Come back to me when a magma Crackler has eaten the remainder of your flock and burned your little hut down the ground,” he said after sitting up in his throne and turned his crumbling attention to the present guards,” get him out of my sight.”

The Feca stammered though wisely shut his mouth when two guards grabbed him by his arms. He quietly uttered a “thank you, Sire” before he was escorted out of the throne room, the chamberlain quickly calling forth another name to not cause any delays or feel the prince’s wrath for having approved the Gobball keeper’s petition.

Alys exhaled after she watched the Feca getting escorted out, uncertain what to think of it. The next petition didn’t help with making up her mind and neither did the following. In most cases, Ernaldus simply turned his nose up and shooed any of the visitors away with a wave of his hand after hearing what they wanted, especially the more rundown and poor looking ones. It was painful and difficult to sit through the rejections for someone as soft and big-hearted as Alys, every disappointed glance, terrified reaction or angered shouting making her dislike Ernaldus a little more. 

She could find understanding for when a request was convoluted or simply impossible, but that didn’t take away that the remaining rejected requests could have used a little more consideration from the prince. A shame she wasn’t allowed to speak… It wasn’t until a well-dressed Sadida stepped forward after his title and name were called out that the atmosphere slightly shifted, the Baron Replin Rosessen not looking familiar though his name rung a small bell. Where had she heard it before?

“My Liege,” he said after he made a sweeping bow and bent so far forward that his grassy face almost touched the front of his shoes,” thank you for receiving me, I am honored. Most honored indeed. May I congratulate you on your engagement with this beautiful creature?” 

Alys straightened up and pushed herself against the back of her chair when Replin came up a few of the steps and was already reaching for her hand while his eyes were where they weren’t supposed to be, not wanting him to come close or touch her.

“No, you may not, Rosessen,” Ernaldus sighed with a rolling of his eyes before he bit impatiently,” get to the point.”

Replin nodded with a nervous swallow, his overdone charms not sticking with the prince, as usual. He rubbed his hands together and continued to nod after he took the few steps back down, saying with a forced and unnerved smile,” I came to you because I am still waiting for the promised replacement of Lecreft. It is but a small hole her absence left in my militia but it is a hole which needs filling. All in the best interest of upholding the royal court’s and Brakmar’s safety, of course.”

His militia? Of course.

Alys finally remembered where she had heard the name Rosessen before. His name was dropped several times by Timinne and the Pandawa Liling during Alys’ visit to the questionable Brakmarian establishment called the “Peach Blossom’s Dance”, even amidst the chaos.* He was their boss and truth be told, neither said his name with much pride or joy. That didn’t bode well...

Ernaldus didn’t look all too impressed with the baron, obviously not thinking too highly of him. “Right…” he said a little disinterested before he looked at Alys and the female Huppermage standing behind the Eliatrope’s chair, asking,” has she been a nuisance?”

The two women frowned as if uncertain who he was speaking to before both answered simultaneously.

“No…”

“No, Your Highness.”

Timinne’s response surprised Alys a little but then again, the Huppermage was at her best behavior the whole time she did her part as her chaperone, even if her best behavior wasn’t the most friendly. 

Although not directed at him, the question made Replin stir as he once more closed the distance between himself and Alys, though this time he stayed at the bottom of the steps leading up towards the throne. “My Dark Lady,” he said with a voice as smooth as butter, the look on his face flirting in nature though it wasn’t as charming as he might think,” I do hope you will be able to overlook what befell you at the hand of your new chaperone those few years ago. It was most unfortunate, absolutely appalling. Lecreft always was a loose cannon, hard to keep in line and very demanding, just like her father. I hope she has done better in your service.”

What was this sudden back talk and gossiping? Alys blinked before she looked at Timinne, the Huppermage rudely excluded from the conversation as if she didn’t exist and it wasn’t about her. Her red lips were pressed together with a clenched jaw from what Alys could see and only showed but a small hint of her teeth. The most alarming reaction, however, was the deadly glare in the shrunken golden pupils and the creaking of leather as her fists shook with how tightly they were clenched. For once the spiteful look wasn’t targeting her but the Sadida who kept groveling to stay in the royals’ graces, insulted by his backstabbing words.

Timinne may have a temper and a tendency to be violent and eager to inflict pain, but she was loyal and did most of what she did for the best interest of Brakmar. The fact she looked after someone she despised without complaining and didn’t even try to dispose of her was a sign enough that Replin wasn’t honest.

“That’s right…” The prince’s sudden musing interrupted Alys’ line of thought and Replin’s attempt to win the Eliatrope over, the look on Ernaldus’ face thoughtful but also schemingly. “It was your people and dinky establishment which put my future wife in peril. How irresponsible of you, Rossesen.” His tutting brought the Sadida’s nerves to the surface as he anxiously shuffled with his face and his eyes shot about. “What do you say, my dear?” Ernaldus asked as he smiled at Alys,” would you like to punish the baron for what happened to you back then? Anything goes. After all, you are his future queen.”

Alys’s eyebrows furrowed and knitted together when she looked back at the prince in pure disbelief, feeling frightened by how dark the situation had become. Was this really happening? No, she didn’t want to hand out punishment to anyone, not even this man who had just thrown one of his most loyal people under the wagon just to save face.

“W-what? No, please, My Liege! You are wrong! I am innocent!” Replin suddenly cried out before he jabbed a finger at Timinne to point at her. “Punish Lecreft if you must! She was the one who attacked her! She deserves all the punishment you can possibly think of! I had nothing to do with it!”

Finally the invisible restraints Timinne put on herself to not make a scene in front the prince broke when Replin lay all blame on her. “ _You dare_ , you pathetic weed?!” She lunged around Alys’ chair with a flaring anger, the bright flickering of several colors which burst from her hand causing the watching crowd to gasp and try to scramble to safety. Even Replin began to back away in panic before he tripped over his own feet and ended up on the carpet, fear making him lose control over his limbs. 

The astral rapier crackled in her grasp when Timinne menacingly descended the steps with her golden high heels, her red lips curled up and her teeth bared like a ferocious tiger weremoggy stalking its prey. “Not only are you tainting _my_ reputation to save your own hide but you are doubting your Liege’s judgment?! You deserve _nothing_ , Replin.” 

Ernaldus looked on with a small anticipating grin while the guards stayed put, the court not intervening to let the event unfold while Replin’s begging was stiffly ignored. It wasn’t until the terrified Sadida suddenly sank into the floor with a startled yelp and was spat out of a portal towards the quickly parting crowd and against the heavy doors that the tension broke, confusion rising.

Timinne lowered her weapon and slowly turned to look at the Eliatrope who had risen from her chair, the palm of her held up hand glowing the familiar hue of cyan. The portal which had thrown Replin face first into the doors stayed open, even after the Sadida’s legs gave away and he sunk onto the floor with bulging cheeks to not throw up after the abrupt and unexpected travel through her Zaaps.

“It is time to take your leave, Baron…”

Her hand trembled and the tone of her voice was not as confident as Alys tried to make it sound but it was believable enough. 

Replin hacked and retched after he managed to swallow down the sour and burning content of his stomach, the Sadida nothing but a huddled mess on the floor which squirmed about like a caterpillar in the attempt to get to safety. He tried to speak but could only stammer a few faint “but”s as he kept a hand over his mouth and refused to be denied his request.

“You are lucky your future queen is merciful, Rosessen,” Ernaldus cut in, sounding a little disappointed but there was a sly smile present on his white powdered face. It seemed he was pleasantly surprised by Alys’ actions and swiftly used it to his advantage,” you best do what you are told or she might do worse than throw you about. You’ve seen what her kin is capable of, no?”

If his face wasn’t covered by grass, it would have been as white as a sheet after the prince brought forth the reminder of what happened within the city three years prior. The famous Boufbowl event and the devastation caused afterwards by the rampaging Meuporg and a small portal creating boy was one many Brakmarians hadn’t forgotten about. And that boy… He was like the woman Ernaldus took as his fiance. 

He rather not get on her bad side if her people could cause so much destruction with but a wave of their hand.

“You will have to deal with the so-called loss in your militia after handing us Lecreft. Like she said; you deserve nothing,” the prince said before he gestured for his guards to finally move and pointed at Replin,” get him out of my sight before I strip him from his title and possessions to make up for sparing his life.”

Everyone looked on when the guards literally dragged Replin out of the throne room, though some of the remaining visitors were quick to sneak away after the display of power made them reluctant to bring forth their petition to the prince. They won’t risk the same happening to them.

Ernaldus let out a long sigh of relief once he could no longer hear Replin’s protests echoing through the halls, a happy smile playing on his thin lips. “I am pleased to see you are taking your task seriously, Lecreft,” he said after Alys slowly sat down in her chair and Timinne turned to face him, standing at attention while her rapier continued to flicker with its colorful aura,” you aren’t a suck and screw up like your previous master. There might be some hope left for you after all.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Timinne bowed before the prince before she returned to her spot behind Alys, the astral rapier fading away during her stride. There was pride she tried not to show, the fact she was allowed to stand up against Replin without consequences was absolutely gratifying. That cowardly flower was so eager to throw her aside after the assault in the Peach Blossom’s Dance establishment. Who would have thought it would come back to bite him in the ass, and hard too? Perhaps her so-called punishment of serving the Eliatrope wasn’t so awful after all.

“And my compliments to you, my dear. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Her throat felt dry when she reluctantly shifted her gaze towards Ernaldus and looked at him from the corner of her eyes, his smug face spreading an ice cold sensation through her chest and made her heart pound with unease.

“You set a fine example with Rosessen by instilling fear into your followers. Nobody will think of raising their hand or voice at you, not after you reminded them of their place and what your people can do.”

“But I didn’t...” Her voice trailed off as Ernaldus made clear he wasn’t going to listen to her by standing up before he motioned for the chamberlain to send all remaining citizens away, the petitions over. It happened so fast… Was Ernaldus trying to make others cautious of the Eliatropes so he could more easily keep his people in line, as if they are some sort of boogieman? Was he going to use her and the boys as a trump card to threaten others with? Goddess, isn’t marrying her and gaining the support of her people not enough of a power boost for Brakmar already? She shouldn’t have intervened… 

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply to not lose her composure, not wanting to regret her act of mercy. She needs to talk with Ernaldus about the reputation he is trying to give to her people; that was most important. She can’t allow him to walk over the Eliatropes just because he married their representative and most of them are nothing but children. Perhaps their first dinner together later this evening is a chance to discuss whatever Ernaldus was planning by making Replin fear her.

Hopefully he would listen… 

No. 

He better listen.

**To be continued.**

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Blank Canvas, chapter 12.  
> *: See Traces, chapter 7.  
> *: See Traces, chapter 21 and 22.


	7. Black and Blue

 

So this is what it is like to be alone with him. He acted no different from usual, safe for the lack of any bootlickers who would indulge him in his distasteful jokes. The only things he had eyes for were the obvious aspects of her looks and the platters of food standing before him. She expected him to eat like a pig no matter his skinny appearance, but to her surprise, the prince wasn’t ill-behaved with his table manners. 

Though perhaps his table manners were a little _too_ delicate. 

Alys watched him lightly dab his napkin against his pursed lips after every small bite, making absolutely certain he didn’t smudge or stain his powdered face. It was like well-oiled clockwork, a rhythm which almost mesmerized her as her gaze kept following his hands. There was something unnatural and vain about this man’s eating habits and it made her wonder if he had ever held a weapon or went on an adventure. It didn’t seem so. 

Her fork and knife already lay crossed on her empty plate, her appetite little. She had hardly eaten anything since her arrival in Brakmar, the sense of hunger dampened by the negative feelings she was drowning in. It all still felt like a dream… or better put, a nightmare. There were only two nights left until the dreaded wedding and she had yet to find anything which could up her optimism. Hope was difficult to contain or find… 

She looked around the dining hall, the silence starting to weigh on her. 

“Where is my chaperone?” she eventually asked, breaking the silence and finally getting a shred of attention from Ernaldus as his eyes turned towards her from the other side of the long table.

He simply watched her for a moment, the fork which held a piece of cut steak hovering before his open mouth before he took his time to eat the small bite rather than answer her. It felt like his chewing lasted for minutes on end while eye contact persisted until he swallowed, repeated the overdone but careful wiping of his lips and sat up in the tall chair. “Lecreft’s expertise was required elsewhere,” he finally answered, his attention already having shifted to his goblet of wine.

Expertise? What kind was he talking about? Her brows furrowed ever so slightly in wonder before she decided to take a small risk now that he was listening. “And Master Joris? Where is he?”

The single twitch of his eyes and eyebrows at the mention of the Bontarian master was visible to her, his attempt to keep his composure rather weak though he managed. “What does it matter to you?” He sounded a little annoyed as he spoke into the goblet before taking a rather large sip, having a feeling he was going to need a drink.

“Everything.”

Her short and defiant response and the harsh look she gave him made him almost spit out the expensive wine, the gulp which followed to not make a scene or spill the drink rather loud before his wide eyes narrowed and he slowly set the goblet down onto the table. His napkin received some more of his love as he dabbed it firmly against his mouth, bitter this time rather than with care. He couldn’t contain his glare but he was generous enough to not leave the Eliatrope in the dark. 

“I assume he is still occupied with paperwork and other political nonsense. He was his usual self during the earlier council meeting. Quiet and a nuisance. Sitting there with his arms crossed as if he is superior to everyone around him and carrying himself as if he is the king of kings.” Ernaldus leaned back in his chair to sit more comfortable and observe the woman across of him, her harsh expression not letting up but then he didn’t exactly give her reason to. “Soon enough it won’t matter where he is or what he is up to,” he continued,” he’ll be gone and no longer sticking that nose of his where it doesn’t belong. I don’t get what you see in him to be concerned about his wellbeing or to have any kind of interest in him at all. Jurgen is a sneaky little man with too many secrets. He’s always watching, always plotting, always listening and always judging.”

“Are you jealous of him?”

“Jealous? _Me_? Of _him_?” His voice cracked a little, the insult he felt written all over his face. He laughed mockingly, a miserable attempt to keep his composure and hide the fact she struck deep with her rebuke after he insulted someone she cared deeply about. “He isn’t the one marrying you, now is he?” Ernaldus asked with a crooked grin which bordered on a mean sneer as he sat hunched forward in his chair,” no, my dear. After tomorrow, there’s absolutely nothing to be jealous of when it comes to _him_.”

That hurt. Alys pressed her lips together when the prince smacked her with the hard truth, his counter stabbing her painfully in her chest. She drew a few rapid breaths to not lose her temper, tears prickling and burning behind her eyes. There was a lot she wanted to say to the prince, like how it is his fault she won’t marry someone he could be rightfully jealous of, someone of her own choice and loves. Or that he can shove this whole arrangement down his throat like the awfully tasting wine he guzzled down to cool his anger. She would throw everything present on this table at him and teleport him into the hot muck of the lava riverbeds right after if only her people’s future didn’t rest in his filthy hands. To insult Joris like this without valid reason was pushing it too far and yet she couldn’t do or say anything to stand up for him.

“You best make your peace with it,” Ernaldus said, fully aware Alys was struggling to keep her patient and strong appearance intact,” because like I said, he’ll be gone after you become my wife. You’ll be queen and a befitting one worthy of Brakmar. No showing weakness, no dillydallying with the enemy and no other meek hearted nonsense like charity to the poor. You will be strong and intimidating like you were in the throne room.” 

Her lower lip quivered before she abruptly shoved her chair back and stood up, her hands slamming down onto the table. Her sudden but contained outburst made Ernaldus flinch and shrink a little in his confidence, uncertain what she would do as he stared at her. “That is another thing I would like to discuss,” she said slowly, a small pause present between every word she managed to push through her wavering emotions and the attempt to not give into the anger she felt, leaning on the table,” what are you hoping to accomplish by spreading false rumors about my people? To make others fear them?”

“W-well, yes,” he unintentionally stammered after fear for her taking her anger out him spiked, the clearing of his throat a futile attempt to get his act together though he tried,” don’t play coy, Lady Alys; you know the Twelvians fear your people after the whole Eliacube and Qilby debacle. Your people left an impression and it is an impression which is most beneficial to our rule. It will keep people in line or rally them under our banner. It will make Brakmar stronger than it alre--”  

“ _They are nothing but children!_ ”

The sharp raising of her voice caught him by surprise and made him shut up, the prince recoiling in his chair. He saw it, the color of cyan which flashed in her eyes and flickered across her cheeks when she shouted… like a boowolf baring its fangs. It went by too fast but it left him filled with dread and fear towards his future wife, something he didn’t think would happen. Perhaps he went a step too far?

He held his breath and pushed himself against his chair’s backrest when Alys scowled and left the table as abruptly as she stood up, not sure what she was planning on doing. Was she going to lash out? He didn’t take her for someone violent or aggressive but then she hardly ever showed her claws before, not even during the trial in Sadida*. This was the first time he saw her on the brink of losing her temper and he had to admit it was scary. 

“Once I am queen, “dear husband”,” she said with a hidden threat in her voice after she pulled the door open and lingered in the doorway with her back turned to him,” I _will_ watch over and protect my children. Every last one of them. You will _not_ taint or corrupt a single one for Brakmar’s so-called cause. I _won’t_ allow it. And I _will_ continue to uphold contact with my allies, no matter if they are Bontarian or from the moon. I will not be caged by you or your council.”

 _Slam_.

Ernaldus stared at the door after it slammed shut behind the Eliatrope, speechless by what just happened. His white makeup hid the fact all color had drained from his face but nothing could hide his trembling after he slumped further down in his chair and robe.

She had become feisty after accepting the proposal… and not in a good way. What was he going to do with it if she kept this up? A good thing nobody was present to witness this embarrassment. He was sure his chamberlain or general would have commented something along the lines of a happy wife, happy life if they had seen it. Stupid… At least the coronation will occur right after the wedding and once that crown sits on his head, he has no reason to fear his wife’s tempers or appease her every whim. He’ll be king and her people will be his. Their Dofus, artifacts, and dragons… all of it will be his.

He took another sip from his wine as he let his gaze rest on the door, already imagining what his rule would be like the day after tomorrow rather than worry over the upset Eliatrope.

Alys stood before the door she slammed shut with clenched fists and closed eyes, her lips continuing to tremble. She had to hold her breath to not give in to the desire to sink to her knees and cry into her hands, knowing she had to be strong to endure this. So angry… Goddess, it has been quite some time ago since last she was this vexed. Blast that man. She grunted as she kicked backward against the door with the heel of her shoe before she walked away to retreat to her chambers, unable to calm down or relax.

Her anger made her blind and deaf towards her surroundings. She didn’t notice she was being followed until a soft clearing of a throat made her stop and slowly turn her head to see who was behind her. The white of his mask was an unwelcome sight when Alys peered at Gard, the Masqueraider closing the remaining distance between them.

“Leave me alone, Gard,” she said after looking ahead with a lowering of her shoulders, absolutely not in the mood to deal with him.

“I can’t,” came his answer, one which made her inwardly cringe,” I am your newly appointed chaperone during Lecreft’s absence. Or bodyguard, if you will…”

Him? Goddess, Brakmar was really playing a cruel game with her. Then again… He might know things Ernaldus has no knowledge of or doesn’t wish to share. “Do you know where she is?” She kept her back turned to Gard after asking about Timinne, wanting to know what is so important that she isn’t required to look after the Eliatrope this evening. Brakmar was making a big deal out of it before so what caused it to change? Hopefully, it was nothing serious like the discovery of Bontarian spies roaming about in the shadows and pretending to be handmaidens.

Gard stepped up next to Alys, the hood and mask he wore hiding his thoughts from her but she caught a glimpse of his grey eyes glancing her way, the look he carried cold as usual. “I do, but I don’t think you would like to know.”

“Try me.”

He frowned. An unexpected reaction, she must be quite upset. Then again, she didn’t even notice him standing by the door when she left the dining hall in a fit. “I heard you speak of Bonta towards His Majesty,” he said, his spot by the door having given him a decent enough chance to listen in, especially after she yanked the door open and made a few things clear to the prince. “Surely you aren’t thinking of staying friends with them, other than for allegiances’ sakes?”

“That has nothing to do with Timinne.”

Her eyes narrowed further when Gard rose a finger to interrupt her, his masked visage slowly turned to her in a somewhat menacing and eerie way. “Remember what I told you the day before?” The way she straightened up and furrowed her brows answered his question; she wasn’t certain. “Her late husband. Brakmar and Bonta don’t mix, there is always turmoil or something going on behind the scenes when bonds are forged between the two nations or their people. It was no different for her marriage, I assure you. Someone believed she belonged here and they made certain she would stay, by any means.”

Alys swallowed after she focused on every single word which escaped him, as if they were a distraction from the storm she felt raging inside. The rivalry between the two nations was forged nearly ten centuries ago and it kept popping its head up ever so often. Be it through wars, political debates, petty arguing or Boufbowl matches… It never settled. She felt the urge to ask Gard who would dare to get in the way of a happy marriage but she stayed silent, her curiosity clashing with her dampened anger.

“Lecreft was meant for greatness, or so her father believed. He hammered his beliefs and extremist loyalty towards Brakmar into her when she was but a child and she gobbled it all up because she did him proud and he promised her greatness. In their eyes, Brakmar was a God on its own and they would defend and serve it till their dying breath.” He paused to allow everything he said to sink in, observing the quiet Eliatrope closely. “It is no secret she was to take on her father’s mantle once she came of age. He taught her well… Her interrogation techniques are stellar, precise and oddly mesmerizing, and all with great results; she willingly and happily made her hands dirty to pull any kind of secret out of anyone, with any kind of method or tool. Her skills are almost as renowned as her father’s... if he still lived.”

He didn’t need to go into further detail, the tone in his voice indicating the interrogation techniques Timinne excelled at were of the physical kind… and perhaps mental. The thought she dedicated her life to torture made Alys’ stomach clench together, the wonder as to where Timinne was this evening receiving small puzzle pieces which were slowly falling in place.

“She was his pride until a man from Bonta caught her eye and stole her heart, and quickly too. Rumor has it she pleaded her father to give his blessing, to allow her to marry the man she claimed was the love of her life but he rejected her. A life in Bonta was not what he raised her for; Brakmar was her home and life and so it should stay. Of course, she believed otherwise and eloped with her lover to find happiness in Bonta, to her father’s disappointment.” Gard began to slowly walk to not linger in the hallway and gestured for Alys to join him as he continued his talk, the Eliatrope dressed in black following in his wake. “And wouldn’t you know it… Not long after marrying the man of her dreams and heading home after a lovely dinner in Bonta’s finer district, she and her husband were jumped in an alleyway. A robbery.”

A heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach formed when the Masqueraider rose his hands and air quoted the last two words with certain distaste, not liking where this tale was going.

“Her dear Bontarian husband lost his life that night and she lost her finger when the so-called robbers tried to remove her wedding ring and she resisted. Heartbroken, she returned to Brakmar with her tail between her legs and begged her father for forgiveness and to give her a second chance. He was generous enough, pleased his daughter had come to her senses… Little did he know he taught his daughter a little too well in uncovering little secrets, the old man blinded by his own successes and egoism to have noticed. It didn’t take long after her return to Brakmar for her father to get apprehended, accused of various atrocities he claimed to know nothing about, like several gruesome and brutal murders of Brakmar loyalists and noblemen. He swore high and low he was innocent, that he was framed.” A dry inward chuckle sounded behind Gard’s mask. “He wasn’t wrong. I think he realized who was behind it all mere seconds before his head was chopped off.”

Alys closed her eyes after hearing him, somewhat glad she didn’t eat all that much. This was nauseating… Was any of it true? He sounded confident and serious, even though he seemed amused by Timinne’s story. Morbid… How did he know about it?

“You’ve got to hand it to Lecreft,” Gard continued,” she is vicious and spiteful. Earlier today, that same spitefulness towards Rosessen reminded His Royal Highness of her skill set and previous reputation and it is why I am escorting you to your chambers instead of her. She has a new job… or rather, she got her old job back. You won’t be seeing her as often anymore but she is still your chaperone during more important affairs.”

“Why did you tell me this?” Her throat felt parch dry, the sickening feeling lingering and making her lightheaded. She rose her gaze when Gard paused in his stride and looked at her, a few seconds of silence creeping by until he leaned closer and made her straighten up with a hint of suspicion.

“Try me, remember?” His answer was short, his leering making her uncomfortable after he reminded her of what she said during her frustration. “There is much you have yet to learn about Brakmar but the one thing you shouldn’t forget is that once Brakmar claims you, you will be lost to it forever. Not even a man from Bonta could save Lecreft from it. The rivalry between these two nations won’t ever end, no matter how hard you try.”

Her wings grew smaller in her hood, the warnings he gave not sitting right with her. She wasn’t like Timinne, their morals and devotions on completely different levels. No matter what happened in the Huppermage’s life or what she was currently doing, she wasn’t an example Alys needed to follow. Her love for Bonta was strong and she won’t allow Brakmar to take it away from her, queen or not. “I guess I’ll be the one to make a difference then,” she said after closing her eyes to not waver in the little courage she had left, her heart pounding in her chest. She rose a hand to lightly press her fingers against Gard’s shoulder and push him aside to clear the way, the Masqueraider obliging her request. “If you will excuse me,” she said with a lowered voice, speaking softly,” I can walk myself to my chambers.” 

He bowed without making an attempt to stop her or remind her of his new role, allowing her to be on her own. She was still upset from what he could tell but it didn’t matter to him; he couldn’t care less. He watched her until she rounded the corner and the sounds of her footsteps ebbed away, not a single muscle moving until a voice spoke to him from the shadows.

“She doesn’t seem all too keen about the upcoming wedding.”

“Don’t worry,” Gard reassured whoever was shrouded in the darkness of the hallway,” she’ll marry.”

There was a skeptical but thoughtful hum before the voice continued with a somewhat lecturing tone,” you aren’t exactly helping to persuade her by talking ill about Brakmar and speaking of the possible losses she will face with this arranged marriage. You only filled her head with reasons to make the arrangements void and leave the prince standing at the altar.”

“On the contrary. One of her flaws is the drive to change the world and make it a better place, be it for her own people or everyone else. I merely gave her a few nudges to be determined in fixing what will be wrong with this so-called allegiance.”

“I trust your judgment like I always do, but it is an awful risk you are taking. You better not jeopardize years of work with these impulsive decisions, Brother. As you know, Brakmar isn’t the only one who wants to see this arrangement go through without a hitch.”

“Everything will go according to plan,” the Masqueraider said with a slight incline of his head,” I will make certain of it.”

There was a moment of silence before a hand reached out from the shadows and patted Gard heavily on his shoulder, the white leather of the glove standing out against the black of Gard’s cloak. “I trust you. Try and keep her content now that Lecreft is out of the picture, at least until the day after tomorrow. If there is something which makes her happy or lifts her spirits, make certain nobody gets in the way of it. Speaking of…” The gloved hand disappeared back into the darkness before the voice asked,” have you been disposing of Master Jurgen’s contaminated food?”

“No need. He figured out rather quickly that all food and drink sent to his chambers is spiked and meant to sedate him during the nightly hours. He hasn’t eaten or drank from any of it but is clever enough to make it look like he has. He managed to fool the whole court so far.”

“I expected no less from him,” the shrouded figure praised,” make certain he is able to converse with the Eliatrope whenever he or she wills it. His company appears to make this whole ordeal more bearable for her and it is what we need for everything to progress smoothly. Just keep him away from our business.”

Gard nodding in compliance. “Of course.” It was all he needed to say to reassure whoever was hiding in the shadows, inwardly pleased everything was going as it should. As long as Timinne stayed occupied in the castle’s dungeon with her newly received tasks and Ernaldus won’t try to make Alys’ stay more miserable, there was nothing he worried about. Two more nights and everything will fall into place.

  


\--------------------~*~--------------------

  


Alys took a deep shaky breath after retreating into her room and faced the empty dark space, the closed door her only support while leaning against it. Her fingers were tightly clamped around the door handle, every muscle in her body tense as she continued the struggle to not break down.

What an awful and disgusting day.

Normally she would look for the silver linings while feeling this defeated, to search for anything positive to not lose hope but this evening? She didn’t have the energy to convince herself there was a shred of decency present in this castle. If it weren’t for Joris, Varessi and her fellow Srams, this place would be black and cold, no matter all the lava coursing through the city.

Her turquoise eyes turned towards the small table and lone chair by one of the tall windows, the glow of the lava outside glinting against the glass of a wine bottle. That bottle had been there ever since she first set foot into this room and didn’t manage to be alluring for all that time. Now, however… Perhaps she should drink the whole bottle to knock herself out for the night and numb her everything, maybe get a few more delivered so she can be passed out until it is time to walk down the aisle. That sounded tempting… _Very_ tempting.

A heavy sigh left her after she made her way over to the table and placed a finger on top of the cork, slowly tipping the bottle to make it balance on the curved edge. She still had some sense left to not give into the desperation she felt; drinking wasn’t going to solve her problems and the good feeling it might give won’t last long enough. Besides, it would taint the only memory of drinking she has and it is a pleasant memory she didn’t want to forget. An embarrassing memory, but pleasant all the same. 

That night in the Justice tower*… What she wouldn’t give to go back to that time and relive it. It was little over a year ago but after all Brakmar put her through, it felt much longer. 

“Do you need assistance uncorking it?”

“No,” she mindlessly answered, having retreated too far into her thoughts,” though some tips on how to use the bottle as a club would be appre--” The light pressure she had on the bottle nearly slipped when she cut herself off at the realization she wasn’t alone and was speaking her mind rather than mind what she was saying. She quickly nudged the bottle upright to not have it fall onto its side and roll off the table before she looked with large eyes to one who had snuck into her room, a red color flushing across her cheeks.

“Bad day, hm?”

Alys stood sheepishly with a sense of shame as she watched the small master of Bonta approach before she allowed herself to deeply sigh and run a hand across her face. She nodded in answer as she slowly lowered onto her knees and slumped to a sitting on the floor, sounding tired and empty,” terrible day.”

Joris glanced to the bottle of wine after it lost her interest, quietly guessing she was tempted by it before he startled her with his sudden appearance. She didn’t ask him where he came from or how long he had been there but he knew she trusted him well enough to not wonder about such things. Her mind was elsewhere. “Did something happen?”

“What didn’t happen?” she sighed as she ran her hand across her face a second time before she rested it lightly against her mouth and peered into the shadow of Joris’ hood, the master standing close enough for her to see his shrouded eyes. “Brakmar is greedy,” she began, the suppressed anger making her voice lightly tremble,” Timinne is vulgar, Gard is uncomfortable to deal with and Ernaldus is selfish and cruel. Can you believe that man is willing to portray innocent children as evil, all to stay in power and keep his followers in line with fear? Who does that?”

Brakmar, Joris thought but he kept it to himself. It was an obvious answer.

“And he said awful things, like that it isn’t you who-- That you…” She balled the hand before her mouth into a fist and pressed the back of her fingers against her lips, not daring to repeat what the prince so bitterly said after she touched a nerve by asking if he was jealous of the master. It hurt to say it or even think about because it was true; it wasn’t him. Goddess, why couldn’t it be?

He didn’t seem fazed by learning about Ernaldus’ gossiping from the distraught Eliatrope, having endured the prince’s sharp glares during the council meeting. It wasn’t much different from the usual meetings but he had to admit it felt more threatening this time around. Not that it bothered him; he was too vexed with the situation to care about the prince’s feelings. Joris made the wild guess Ernaldus’ paranoia was flaring the more his patience ran out, the wait for his coronation probably unbearable for him. He refused to believe the prince cared much for the wedding, for he would have treated Alys better if he truly did.

“He’s a pig.”

Joris rose a brow at the sudden namecalling, no matter that it was fairly tame. Did he ever hear her call anyone names before? It was very unlike her… The prince really pushed her to her limits, didn’t he? She did look it. He scowled at the thought and sight of her struggling before his chest heaved with the deep breath he took. There was nothing he agreed upon in this whole affair, but there was also nothing he could do without anyone suffering severe consequences from it. He hated to be this powerless.

“That he is,” he quietly agreed before he almost got knocked off his feet, the befuddled stumble he made drowning out the grunt of surprise. He tried to catch Alys after she threw herself forward without warning, her arms wrapping tightly around his small body as she pulled him closer and against her. One of her hands pressed hard against the back of his head while the other grasped for his back with desperate clutching fingers, her face buried away against the side of his hood and the softness of the spotted fur he wore around his shoulders.

The trembling of her body was all too clear as she held him tight while remaining seated on the floor, same for her warmth and faint perfume. Her nails dug a little too painfully into his back but he didn’t have the heart to let her know, knowing she was on the verge of breaking and needed comfort. 

If this was anyone else than Brakmar, if it was someone far less important… He would have taken her hand by now, tell her to trust him and to not let go before running like the wind to a safe place, all to save her from this madness. He wouldn’t have cared one bit about whatever trouble he might stir up with whisking the Eliatrope away and making the treaty void; he would have gladly done so with a grin. Unfortunately, the situation wasn’t that simple. 

She was thinking the same wistful little thoughts. How she would escape if it wasn’t the powerful nation of Brakmar who had lured her into this trap and to live a happy life elsewhere without ruining any chances for the surviving Eliatropes to thrive. She wouldn’t have accepted the terms of this allegiance if her people weren’t in dire need of the offered aid and resources. If only… 

The grip on the back of his coat lessened as the minutes crept by, the tension in her arms growing weaker and her hold softer. It didn’t take long for them to simply stand or sit there and just be silent in each other’s company until she was the one to reluctantly bring them back to reality and remind them where they were. “You shouldn’t be here…” 

“Neither should you.”

A weak chuckle left her, the sound more of a huff while she shook her head. Why was that funny? Why did those words make her heart a little lighter? She brought a hand up to wipe her eyes before she slowly leaned away and released the master from her embrace, wanting to see his face. He didn’t hide from her and returned her glance when their eyes met, the small nod he gave her a quiet encouragement. 

One more day. Two more nights. Neither of them dared to say it would be over soon, uncertain of what would happen after the wedding and coronation were done. Would things approve or disintegrate? They rather not think about it.

“If Ernaldus finds out you are here, in my chambers, at this hour, he would have fit,” she whispered after lowering her gaze to the dark floor her hand rested on and took in the shine of her gown’s black fabric,” so perhaps… you could stay a little longer?”

Joris smirked at the daring proposal. The prince must have really gotten on her bad side if she was to suggest such things. He didn’t mind. Brakmar had kept him at bay since the night before, purposedly occupying him with meaningless talks and paperwork, all to prevent him from getting nosey or involved. Luckily for him, he had backup to keep an eye on things and they had been most helpful, informative and resourceful so far. Maddock and his small spying entourage have kept him up to date on the ongoings, even about the most trivial thing that was going on in the castle. But while these intelligence agents were practical, they couldn’t do everything for him. These reminiscent nightly visits were his to make and he had some catching up to do with the Eliatrope after Brakmar tried to keep them apart.

If him paying Alys a visit would annoy the prince some more, then why not? Anything to spite him a little after the stunts he dared to pull.

“I can give you some tips on how to use that,” he said with an incline of his head towards the bottle on the table, obviously joking,” or you can vent some more about how your day has been. You must have a lot on your plate; I have not seen you this angry and exhausted before.”

And it wasn’t going to get any easier for her, either. Tomorrow was going to be busy and filled to the brim with preparations for the ceremonies the day after and from what Joris had heard, Brakmar didn’t spare any expenses to turn it all into a historic event. It was going to be big.

She shook her head to decline his jesting offer, a smile shimmering through her tired expression. “You are free to have a drink but I want to get out of this grueling tight dress, get into something more “me” and then just sit and talk. There are a few things I learned about today that I want to talk about.” Like Timinne’s story and what happened during the petitions.

His eyes finally fluttered over her appearance after she brought his attention to what she wore, the look he held far less intrusive than how she was looked at by the prince earlier. He nodded in agreement after he respectfully averted his gaze and said after he held out a hand to help Alys back on her feet,” blue suits you better than black.”

It really did. A certain pair of Sadidas would tell her she looks good in anything and any color but blue… it was one of Joris’ compliments she laid a lot of value in. And right now, after what happened and is going to happen, black had become an atrocious color in her eyes. It was unfortunate that it and the color red were her new palettes as the future queen of Brakmar.

Hopefully, the marriage won’t be the end of blue in her life.

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Blank Canvas, chapter 22.  
> *: See Traces, chapter 40.


	8. Facade

 

Everything was dull. Hollow. Distant. The tugging on her body was hardly felt, the voices which spoke nothing but inaudible mumbles as if someone was talking into a mug or had covered her ears. She felt scratched out like the many words hidden underneath scribbles of black, hidden words on pieces of paper nobody paid heed to as they prepared her for this nightmare.

The day before went by too quickly and it was unfortunately one of the better days Alys had during her stay here in Brakmar. The prince refused to see her after her threatening during dinner, Timinne wasn’t around to bark at her as she was occupied with her newfound tasks in the dungeon and even Gard kept away. She spent the day alone with her two fake handmaidens who she now calls friends, she had a glimpse of the wedding and coronation preparations and location and spent another night in Joris’ company, neither speaking of what lay waiting. The day before was like a dream… An illusion which lost its charm and magic once dawn broke and she was riled from her sleep to get ready.

It was time. Today is the day. She is to be married.

The unfinished letters which lay on the small table in her room were as ignored as Alys’ thoughts on the matter. She was treated like a doll, an empty husk of which only the looks and power it contained were of interest. The servants and tailor did well to try and make her pretty to not disappoint their soon-to-be king, sticking with his standards and how a Brakmarian queen should look like rather than consider honoring the Eliatrope faith of his bride.

While the tailor made small adjustments to the gown she wore, she recited what she wrote during the late hours of the night or at least tried to write before every attempt was angrily thrown aside.

_Dear Yugo and Adamaï. I hope you are well after what happened. I am truly sorry for the whole ordeal. I think about it often, almost every hour of the day. How I wish it could have gone differently. I write to you and Alibert to let you know I am in good hands. I am well taken care of and the negotiations proved to be worth the trouble. You and the children in Emrub have nothing to worry about._

Reassurances… She believed she needed to extend them to her little brothers and king, but those were nothing but white lies to not have them worry about her. It was all fake. This whole arrangement was fake. She knew it. Brakmar knew it. Bonta knew it. The boys knew it. Writing these lies would only be an insult and she therefore didn’t finish a single letter, every attempt to keep up a facade scratched out with black ink.

A grunt left her when the tailor firmly pulled at the red lacing on the back of the gown while he tried to line up the multi-layered back part of the gown with her spine, the already tight and uncomfortable feeling around her waist and chest growing worse. If that wasn’t enough to make her feel like she was suffocating, the cowl she was forced to wear to hide her wings and express a sense of regalness only added to the discomfort. It was tight around her throat, applied pressure against her small pointy ears and the lining cut into her cheeks. The ridiculously sized fur collar which hugged her bare shoulders and pressed up bosom was heavy and far too large yet it somehow miraculously stayed in place. Goddess, how she hates this dress… and by how the tailor kept pulling at nearly every inch of the red and black silk and sheer to get it in perfect shape, it seemed he wasn’t too fond of it either.

The dark red lipstick she was forced to wear tasted awful and made her mouth parch dry but she wasn’t allowed to move from her spot on the low stool nor eat or drink anything to not accidentally ruin her overall appearance. This sense for perfectionism was making her head spin.

“As discussed prior during yesterday’s preparations,” the Chamberlain said without really noticing he didn’t have the Eliatrope’s full attention,” you will enter the temple on my mark and follow the aisle to join the archbishop by the altar. You will walk slowly, but not too slow so you won’t be in His Majesty’s way when he makes his appearance. You will not take your place beside him until the archbishop gestures for you to do so. You say I do, you will accept His Majesty’s ring and you will then step aside to make way for his coronation. If you wonder…” He glanced at Alys from underneath his thick eyebrows,” His Majesty was very clear with his desire to skip on the whole “kiss the bride” part of the ceremony.”

Thank the Goddess for that.

“I hope that does not offend you.”

Alys closed her eyes with the slow deep breath she took, her cinched waist not giving her much leeway to do so though she managed to sigh through her nose while holding back on giving the Chamberlain a piece of her mind. As if avoiding the prince’s lips would offend her more than this whole mess. Hilarious.

She swallowed down the sarcasm which burned on her tongue and instead retreated back into her thoughts to keep herself numb on purpose, not wishing to feel anything. She instead internally chanted that this is for the best and that it will be alright, that she will brighten the future of so many children if she manages to keep this whole allegiance together. A fake arrangement or not, she made herself clear enough about not getting treated like a doormat once the whole wedding facade is done and she is Ernaldus’ wife. If she hadn’t, he would have been a bit more like his bastardly self rather than avoid any contact with her since their last dinner together. Was he scared of her? It wouldn’t surprise her if true.

Still… It may sound hopelessly romantic or foolish but she had yet to kiss anyone in this life and it broke her heart to know that such tokens of deep affection would be given to that man rather than someone more deserving. She should have confessed her feelings sooner… 

The Chamberlain looked a little nervous when Alys didn’t answer him, assuming her silence was all he would get. A no then, as he should have expected. He was well aware the prince didn’t exactly keep his promise to treat his fiance to his best capability… Now look at this mess. They dislike each other so much that the prince refuses to share any intimacy with the Eliatrope, and vice versa, even if it was a formality. This didn’t bode well for the future royal bloodline of Brakmar.

He mumbled under his breath as he sighed before he toddled off to go further down his checklist, having very little left to do. It wasn’t long before the bride needed to be escorted to the temple of Rushu, a place of worship to honor the one this very city and nation was created for so many years ago. 

The wedding and coronation ceremonies were an exclusive affair which many nobles and supporters of Brakmar would attend. It was invitation only, bring the top pedigree along to witness the event and celebrate Brakmar’s new king and queen. It was why it needed to be perfect.

The bride he fussed about was intensely watched by quiet individuals while the tailor tried to work his magic and cinch the Eliatrope tightly into the gown which already clung to her every curve. There were various servants to help with getting the bride dressed and proper, including Varessi and Reyna, the two Srams which posed as Alys’ handmaidens and Brakmarian ladies-in-waiting. No matter that their charade would soon be over, they stuck with it to the very end to not raise any suspicions that Bonta was present within the castle walls, acting like the obedient servants they were supposed to be. Varessi had done Alys’ hair while Reyna was the one who applied the dark red lipstick and some rouge before they hurried from wall to wall and corner to corner to do whatever the Chamberlain or tailor told them to do.

It seemed the tailor was finally done with nitpicking at his so-called masterpiece when he took a few steps back and allowed Varessi to take his place behind the Eliatrope, the Sram holding a long semi-transparent black veil. She had to stand on a stool to be able to pin the veil behind the bun and the small cascade of wheat colored curls, the tied up and styled hair soon covered by the dark piece of fabric which almost reached till her shins. 

Alys closed her eyes when the front of the veil fell before her face, hiding her visage from anyone who gazed upon her. The haze of grey and black which lay over her vision toyed with the battle to not waver and fall victim to her screaming emotions, ones she managed to silence by numbing herself. She took a shuddering breath when Reyna and another servant were told to bring a mirror so the bride could admire the tailor’s so-called masterpiece and herself, her stomach swirling. She didn’t want to see it.

It was hard to believe that she was the woman she saw in the mirror; she hardly recognized her own reflection… She told herself she wouldn’t be oppressed by Brakmar but it seemed they won that fight. There was nothing about her that gave a hint of who she was before, her identity stripped from her and replaced with an image Ernaldus expected.

Tears pricked behind her eyes when the painful reality pressed forward, the figurative mask she wore breaking behind the black veil. She rose a hand to prevent tears from falling though stopped and stifled a gasp when someone grabbed her firmly by her wrist and pulled her arm down. 

“Don’t ruin your makeup,” came the warning, the surprise appearance of Timinne throwing Alys mentally off balance. The Eliatrope stared in startle before it slowly turned into a glare, the black barrier which was the veil hiding her reaction from the Huppermage. Timinne let go of Alys’ wrist rather quickly after she stopped her from wiping her eyes, releasing her as if she was filthy or diseased. “I see everything is well in order,” she said with her usual attitude as she glanced about before inspecting the Eliatrope with only her eyes and circling around her like a predator,” very well in order indeed. Color me surprised. Make certain she remains so; I don’t want her to be a sniveling mess when she walks down the aisle.”

The servants nodded though the chamberlain was quick to cut in,” our Lady is in capable hands, no thanks to you I might add. Why are you here, Lecreft? Isn’t the dungeon entertaining enough for you?” There was a hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice and perhaps a little disdain; he was obviously not pleased to see her.

“I wish to ask the same thing.”

Timinne rose a brow when she turned her spiteful little smile from the chamberlain to the veiled Eliatrope, seeming surprised by her speaking up. She smirked to hide it from the onlookers before she stood more confidently and said,” I wouldn’t want our queen to make a spectacle of herself on this special day, so I came to check on things. I may not be your chaperone today, but I will be once more after you wear a golden wedding ring around your finger and match it with a pretty little ruby-laid tiara. Besides…” Her snide remarks slightly simmered down when Timinne paused and looked at Alys, the usual piercing look in her eyes somewhat softening. “If you hadn’t been placed into my care, willingly or not, I wouldn’t have had to chance to prove myself and get my old position back. The least I can do to repay you is to make certain you are in… capable hands.” 

She cast a sideways glance towards the chamberlain before her golden eyes narrowed. Apparently the feelings she harbored towards him were mutual, neither of the Huppermages being very fond of each other. The tension between them was all too clear and it only made matters worse, the nerves starting to peak. 

Alys only nodded in response to Timinne’s honesty, unable to do more simply because she didn’t have the energy for it. She could think of better bodyguards to look after her safety but at least Timinne was loyal to Brakmar, even after what happened to her husband and father. She may not have a high opinion on Eliatropes but she will treat Alys well enough once she marries Brakmar’s new king. Not that it is exactly a ray of sunshine in a dark future… Nothing was.

The uncomfortable silence which followed was broken by the clicking of Timinne’s tongue before she straightened her back and lifted her chin up, her attention once more on Alys rather than the servants, Chamberlain, and ladies-in-waiting. “Since everything is in order, I will head for the temple and join the others; it won’t be long now. I wish you luck, my Lady.”

If only there was some luck in this, Alys solemnly thought to herself when she lowered her gaze down to the floor, knowing full well luck wasn’t on her side anymore. 

The departure of the finely dressed Huppermage left most of the present people cold, the mild interest she had in Alys’ wellbeing more of a creepy concern than a reassuring relief. It was rather unlike her… but nobody questioned it or thought too much about it, the upcoming event far more important. Though it didn’t take long for Timinne’s presence to replaced by another, the newly appointed but temporary chaperone quietly entering the large but bare room. 

The chamberlain was happy to see Gard approach with his usual mysterious demeanor, a smile beginning to form on his round face before he positioned himself next to the bride as if to show her off like a trophy on a pedestal. He appeared impatient as he waited for the Masqueraider, shuffling a little with his feet.

Gard paid him no heed, his shrouded eyes on the veiled Eliatrope. “Is she ready?” he asked after he was unable to get a full read on Alys, already knowing the answer.

“Indeed, she is very ready. All that is required is for her to be at the temple. Will you be escorting her?”

“Yes.” 

Short as usual but such was to be expected. The chamberlain was pleased enough with the single-worded answer as he rolled up the long parchment containing his checklist before he wove it like a flimsy wand at the servants. “You heard him, it is time,” he said urgently and started shooing everyone through the room,” our ladies-in-waiting should join their families in the temple while you lot--” He stuck his nose up at the remaining servants after he excused Varessi and Reyna, still believing the two Srams were the daughters of Brakmarian nobles. “--You will report to the kitchen and help out with the preparations of the banquette. Quickly now, there’s a lot to do.”

Varessi was careful when she gave Alys’ arm a light squeeze while brushing past her to take her leave with Reyna and the others. It won’t be long until they discard the red dress and veil they had worn as their disguise and return to the shadows, their duty calling for them. Alys will be on her own from now on and that was a heavy thought to take in for the Eliatrope and the new friend she had made.

Gard stayed where he was while he watched everyone move about to get ready, soon focusing on the long multi-layered train of Alys’ wedding gown which dragged across the dark stone floor when she stepped off the stool and followed the urging chamberlain to the door. He could taste her reluctance when she walked past him and although he couldn’t see her face, he picked up on the slight jerking of her whole body and faltering steps after her head slightly turned towards the tall windows behind the Masqueraider. Did something catch her attention?

A stammer sounded behind the black veil, one Gard barely responded to until the chamberlain took note that the future queen of Brakmar stood still instead of following him into the hallway. “Now is not the time to get cold feet, My Lady. Your groom awaits,” the sweating chamberlain said a little stressed though he tried to play it off with a faint chuckle, apparently excited for the events to happen.

“Can I… Can I have a moment to myself, please? Alone?”

The chamberlain stared at her while four of the servants, including Varessi, stuck their head around the door or peered into the room to listen in on what was happening, her request for some alone time raising a few brows. “There’s hardly time,” he said with a shaking of his head, almost tutting as he reached out to her,” you can’t be late for your own wedding, now can you?”

Alys visibly retracted from the chamberlain’s extended hand to not be touched by him or give in to his urgings, repeating herself though with a bit of cloaked agitation,” I ask for but a moment alone, Lord Chamberlain, nothing more.”

“There is time.” Gard loomed up beside Alys when the chamberlain hesitated, a murmur sounding from the hallway as the servants instantly began to whisper to each other to weigh in their own little speculations of what was happening. “Leave her; we’ll join you shortly,” he said, his cooperation scaring Alys a little but she didn’t question it. He cast a quick glance towards the windows and the balcony after the chamberlain mumbled and left the room nervously fidgetting, not liking the delay even though Gard was correct; there was time to spare until the bride needed to walk down the aisle. Once everyone left the room, the chamberlain made his way to the temple and the servants hurried towards the kitchen and other parts of the castle, Gard turned to Alys with his steel gaze. “Don’t take too long,” was all he said before he left the Eliatrope to herself, not even closing the door behind him.

She drew a trembling breath when no eyes were on her anymore before she hurried to the door as fast as she could and slammed it shut with shaking hands, sealing herself away from the Masqueraider waiting in the hallway. Her breathing became quicker and heavier as the charade she had her nerves under control fell apart, her whole body turning towards the windows. Her desperation brought a wild edge to her every movement when she rushed to the two window-doors leading to the balcony and yanked them open, searching for that hint of blue she saw moments ago and caused her to waver. 

The warm air and sulfuric smells greeted her when she stood panting on the threshold with the balcony door handles clenched tightly in her grasp, and so did the Bontarian master after he left his cover to show himself to her, proving he was that glimpse of blue she saw by mere chance. He shouldn’t be here and neither was it the right time to meet her in private, but he couldn’t help himself.

Her arms tightly wrapped around Joris’ small body after she buckled and sunk down to the ground, her breathing ragged as she fought back the flood while holding him. She was losing the fight of keeping herself together and she couldn’t care less, not after all she put herself through. Her shuddering increased when she felt his hands against her back while he kept himself standing in her embrace, unable to hold him any tighter than she already did.

No word was spoken, the balcony and the world around it silent. Other than her heavy breathing and quiet chokes, the air was still. Not even the distant rumbling of Brakmar’s volcano could pierce the bubble around the two ambassadors, leaving them in what little peace and comfort they could find. 

It took many long seconds before her fingers were no longer pressing against his back or her hands clutching his waist and shrouded head, her hold on him becoming more gentle and less desperate. Some distance formed between them when she sat up in the black and red ruffles of her billowed gown, her grimace hidden from him. Neither could look the other in the eye, the black veil she wore a barrier which got in the way.

She sat silently across of him with many thoughts racing until he stirred and caused every single thought to come to a screeching halt, her breathing stopping as she held it with scared anticipation. Her eyes closed and her head lowered when Joris slowly lifted the veil and drew it back, revealing her to him without asking if he could. It made her heart flutter when she opened her eyes and gazed at him, and for a split second the upcoming wedding was forgotten about as a small appreciative smile shimmered through the dark red of her lips.

He said nothing when he lowered his hands, simply observing and taking in how she looked after he dared to lift her veil before the actual groom could. 

A bride of Brakmar… She looked the part, that was for certain, but she didn’t feel like one. Her eyes betrayed the sadness devouring her. Her paleness hinted on the fatigue of little to no sleep and a lost appetite. Her folded back Wakfu wings showed how small her courage was, if she still had it.

The sigh which left him was one he didn’t even try to hide and she echoed it with a sigh of her own, the Eliatrope able to guess what he was thinking. She forced her smile to stay when she cupped his cheek and caressed it with a thumb, pushing away the little hopes and thoughts about him lifting her veil during a more happier and special time. A time which was part of a future that would never happen.

“You shouldn’t frown like that,” she said quietly as her small smile softened,” it doesn’t suit you.”

Joris’ smirk was faint as he wondered who exactly was comforting the other, him not being the one who was going through a miniature Shukrute and had to keep up the pretend everything was fine. She was trying too hard but then what else could she do? She would be married within the hour. He sighed again to cope with the situation, through his nose this time after allowing himself to feel the warmth and softness of her hand against his cheek. 

This really sucked.

“Will you treat me differently once this is over?”

No. No, he wouldn’t. He shook his head in answer before he finally spoke and took her hand away from his face, needing to start with cutting the ropes which kept them together,” why should I? I have no reason to. Formalities, maybe… you will be a queen after all. But then, we are no strangers to such, are we, Lady Alys?”

“No, Master Joris… we aren’t.”

It was a failed attempt to lighten the mood but she was grateful for it regardless. She remembered that very moment when he didn’t call her by a title for the first time and how it shook her, all in a good way. It was tender then, it made her blush and feel like they were more than just acquaintances or a tutor and student. Back then, in the birthing fields of Sadida, it became clear they were friends… Close friends. Dear friends. Perhaps more…

Would it be unfair to hope for more at this point, so close to her saying her wedding vows to a man she would never love? 

She watched how Joris held her hand, how he slowly turned it over to look at her palm while the light weight of it rested in both his hands, the master unaware of what he stirred inside of her. So many pleasant memories, the adventures they went on, the happy and painful moments they shared, the times they spent in each other’s presence. “Can I still visit you, even when I am queen?”

“It will be tough,” he said honestly, keeping reality a part of the moment to not get lost in little what if’s,” but if Brakmar prevents you for any reason, then I will just have to come to you.”

So the visits to her balcony weren’t over then? How dangerous and bold… but reassuring all the same. It wasn’t right for her to have nightly visitors or to have private moments with someone she should be wary of after she is married and Ernaldus is crowned king, but Brakmar didn’t leave her much choice with how restrictive they were in this deal. “You’re always welcome,” she said, her voice growing softer as her heart grew heavier,” you know I don’t share Brakmar’s distrust or views towards you and Bonta. You are still my most precious ally.” And friend, though she didn’t dare to say so out loud.

“Like I said,” the tone in his voice betrayed he was grinning,” you cannot be rid of me so easily, no matter how hard Brakmar might try. I have promises to keep.”

And so did she. It was time to say goodbye, even though Joris would be present during the ceremonies as a representative of Bonta. There would be no more chances this day to have some time alone with him, the final chance occurring at this very second.

The hug she pulled him in was far more gentle than before, the embrace slathered in melancholy and wistfulness. He inhaled deeply to savor the feeling before he whispered to her,” stay strong. Become a queen of your people, a beacon for those children and a desperately needed influence on this place. Do what you must but never change.” He hoped by all the gods she would never change.

Finally a sniffle, his words moving her far too strongly. She blinked back the tears before she nuzzled the side of his hood, whispering to him as she tightened her arms around him,” I’ll miss you…”

He nodded after her heartbreaking honesty robbed his voice from him. A few years ago he never would have thought he would actually miss someone other than his family but now… 

His face was purposely hidden within his hood when he was the one to pull away and end the unspoken goodbye, the step he took back a sign for Alys to gather herself and get ready for what was coming. He needed to be in the crowd and she needed to be at the altar; such was the way of things whether they liked it or not. He took another step back after she slowly rose to her feet before he spun around and leaped onto the balustrade, hesitating to say anything more.

What could they possibly say to each other? It was far too late.

Alys smiled for him when he peered past the edge of his hood while he lingered, a facade which didn’t reassure either of them. She took her leave as quietly as he did, retracing her steps into the large, empty and dark room while dragging along the long back part of the far too tight gown. She shouldn’t look back, not anymore… but she did anyway and it hurt far too much.

He was gone. 

Her shoulders lowered with the heavy swallow she tried to make, her chest aching as her heart pounded and writhed. Her gaze was glued on the balcony which was void of the one she cared so deeply about before she whispered into the nothingness with a shuddering breath,” I love you…”

Too late. Far too late.

Goddess, how much regret can one bear before it breaks them? How could she possibly say “I do” when her feelings are all tied up in a knot and make her shake? This was the worst outcome in this life she thought she could start anew after she found her place and a path to follow. Why can’t she be selfish for a change? Why does she care so much about others? Look at where it got her; brokenhearted and lost in a place she despised.

Stay strong… for him.

Her teary eyes were hidden behind the black veil when she entered the hallway and came face to face with her masked and waiting chaperone. Her last goodbye was a secret Gard could only guess about after he kept his promise to keep her content before the wedding ends. Her grief was silent when he led her to the temple where many had gathered to witness a prince become a king. Her loss was unknown to all but one when she gazed down the long aisle and saw unfamiliar faces staring her way, bored or mildly interested.

She couldn’t make out his face in the dense crowd but perhaps that was for the best. To see Joris while she walks down the aisle towards a man she called a pig would be the breaking point she wondered about during her woes. 

The chamberlain’s whispered urgings behind her were the starting sign she didn’t want to hear, her mind not willing. It took so much effort to start walking and follow the red carpet between the stone benches facing the massive statue of a famous demonic entity, yet nobody saw her tense she was or how much she was trembling. She played the part of being strong well but it was still pretend. 

Her groom and her husband-to-be was a beacon she didn’t wish to head towards but every step she took brought her closer to him and the archbishop who stood waiting by the altar. Her whole gown felt heavier the further she crossed the distance, her soul getting crushed underneath it while every ounce of willpower she had left drained away.

Soon she will say those two dreadful words which will seal this arrangement and then it will be over.

**To be continued.**


	9. I Do

 

A demon was watching a sacred ceremony, his massive and imposing stature towering over the present mortals as he gazed upon them like he was one of their Gods. Surely such was already a bad omen?

It wasn’t for those born and raised on Brakmarian soil. After all, the city they lived in was built for him by one of his most loyal and eager subjects, the city  once upon a time a temple for anyone who wanted to worship him and wage war and destruction. While most Brakmarians did not revere this demonic lord and immortal entity, they respected his existence or were inspired by it. Their respect and inspiration showed through the crude but still impressive architecture of this capital with bones, skulls, dark stone and the orange glow of lava and fire. Crime, violence and anything else unsavory was welcome here, as long as it didn’t interfere with anyone in power.

Any Shushu would feel right at home here in Brakmar.

Alys’ eyes were on the large statue of the demon she once came face to face with. It was hard to take in that many here believed Rushu blessed this union, along with whichever god one worshipped. She had the distinct feeling he didn’t care about this whole affair, other than that she, an Eliatrope who almost thwarted his invasion with her interference, would be forced to acknowledge him. She might be the only one here who has ever been to Shukrute, seen Rushu in the flesh and lived to tell the tale. It was a crazy thought how she, a non-Brakmarian, experienced something other Brakmarians could only dream of. Not that she considered it an accomplishment or something to boast about… It was a nightmare which she escaped by sheer luck, no thanks to that rogue Remington*.

But not even the statue or who it represented could compare to what would be waiting for her at the end of this seemingly never ending aisle, or rather, who. She’d rather face Rushu, Anathar or Qilby again than join the side of the heir of the Brakmarian throne, the prince waiting with his back turned towards her and the large audience of nobles, generals, veterans, merchants, councilors, representatives and distant relatives. 

The only one facing her was the archbishop, a hooded figure holding a small tome, his face shrouded in shadows while golden skulls adorned his red and brown hood and robes. Everyone else was seated with a good view of Rushu’s statue and the altar, though heads were turned to watch the Eliatrope bride walk the long red path leading to the altar alone.

The temple hall was massive and gloomy thanks to its dark stonework and the many lit fires of braziers, candles, and chandeliers. There were no windows, every possible entrance or exit gated with heavy doors. The largest ones sealed behind Alys and the long silken train of red she pulled behind her like a secondary veil when she began what felt like the longest walk of shame, the massive temple feeling cramped and stuffed once the large doors were shut and she became aware of how many people were present. Brakmar invited many guests, yet only one of all those invited was one she considered close to her. 

Her family wasn’t here… Perhaps for the best, for they would have caused a fuss. She was certain Adamaï would no sit obediently on one of the benches and Yugo might try and object by throwing himself right in the middle of the ceremony to put a stop to it. He was a meddler through and through but he always meant well. It already surprised her that she managed to convince them to go home, even though it broke her heart to do so. She misses them… 

This wedding was bleak and depressing. No music played, the temple far too silent for a wedding. Every shuffle or cough was exaggerated with an echo, the crackling of the fires a continuous buzz in the background. The silence and how it accentuated every little sound was unnerving and made Alys more self-aware than she already was.

The few steps leading up to the altar looked like the tall cliffs of Mount Zinit when she finally approached and ascended them, the distance between herself and the archbishop growing smaller. One more step and she was where she needed to be… There truly was no turning back, not anymore.

Ernaldus didn’t even glance her way when she joined him by the altar after the archbishop beckoned for her, the very signal the chamberlain kept warning her about the past two days. When the archbishop opened his tome and started to read from it once she was in place and right beside her groom, she stopped suppressing her trembling, no longer needing to focus on walking with grace and dignity rather than tuck tail and run for the nearest exit. All she needed to do now was to stay still during the archbishop’s speech, agree to marry the prince and accept the ring. 

Hopefully it will be quick.

It was difficult to process what was being said even though the archbishop spoke slow and clear, his voice reaching every corner of the temple. His formal greeting to everyone present and introducing the bride and groom hardly left a mark on her, the youthfulness of his voice confusing her a little. She expected him to be older for some reason… A strange thing to notice, wasn’t it? Must be her nerves.

She rose her gaze to try and make out the bishop’s face but her dark veil and the shadows his hood cast made it difficult to make out any of his facial features. She gave up and instead turned her attention to the man standing beside her, the pleased little grin he wore making her feel queasy. They say the bride is the one who shines but the roles were reversed during this wedding, the star of the show being the royal groom.

Ernaldus was dressed in his finest robes, the red velvet complimenting the shiny golden embroidery which adorned the expensive looking attire. A heavy looking cloak with a thick fur trim hung from one of his shoulders, the large brooch which kept it in place a golden representation of the Brakmarian coat of arms. His face was whiter than usual with a thick coat of powder while his eyelashes were smeared with black mascara to make them long and curly. Even his hair was more lustrous than usual and particularly well groomed, his recognizable crown still present and acting like the topping of a splendorous cake. Rings adorned his gloved fingers, the large gems polished to the point of reflecting the surroundings. How unfair that he was allowed to wear jewelry during this day while she had to hide her own...

Her gaze averted at the thought and rested on the folds of her dress, the light weight of the pin she wore becoming noticeable when she focused on it. It was unorthodox but the black lace garter belt the tailor insisted her to wear functioned well enough as a hiding place for the little trinket. She refused to leave behind the pin Joris gifted her once upon a time, the piece of jewelry the one solid reminder of her true feelings during this turmoil. It wasn’t like a wedding night was going happen, so her little secret should remain undiscovered.

If Ernaldus already adjusted the wedding script to avoid physical contact with her then it is to be expected that they won’t be spending the night together any time soon. Not that she minded. The thought of them together was revolting, especially with her already spinning stomach and rattling nerves. No, she was fine with it and she was certain he was too.

“I do.”

A different pitch amidst the distant mumbling brought her full attention back to what was happening rather than be internally withdrawn to protect her sanity, her eyes snapping up and sideways to look at Ernaldus. His smug little grin was much larger than before and lay more weight on the two words he said in answer to the archbishop’s question, the wedding ceremony reaching its conclusion. He agreed to marry her, of course, and it was her turn.

Her red lips trembled and her eyes were wide with fear and anxiety when the bishop continued to speak, his every word directed at her as he repeated what was said prior to the prince. What language was he speaking? She could hardly make sense of it. Her raging stress jumbled everything even though it was as clear as day. Goddess, she’s on the verge of breaking down; she needed to get a hold on herself this instant or else everything she went through would have been for nothing.

“I-I do…”

Oh no. 

She sharply inhaled through gritted teeth and held her breath when her quiet stammer interrupted the bishop’s question about whether she would take the man beside her for her husband, for better or worse. Her panic made her blurt out the answer far too early… 

“I--”

Her voice was more silent than before though Ernaldus and the archbishop picked up on it. A visible twitch of the prince’s nostrils betrayed the scowl he tried to keep contained but no word of disapproval escaped him. He instead looked at the bishop after he averted his frustrated gaze from her, the bishop taking the impatient glare as a sign to continue. He picked up where he left off to not repeat himself while a murmur passed through the watching crowd,” from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" 

No, she doesn’t. “I do.” _Goddess damn it_.

There was a pause after she repeated herself, as if someone expected something more to happen or another slip up would occur. The seconds crept by until an uncertain clearing of a throat from the audience was the icebreaker which brought everything back on track.

The archbishop closed the tome he read from and lay it on the altar behind him before continuing with the next step, not seeming too fazed by how the ceremony was going. “May I have the ring?” he asked and rose his hands to indicate for the bride and groom to face each other, his gesturing hands clad in white leather.

The world felt like it was about to topple over when Alys forced herself to move on the archbishop’s urgings, her dress not working along and wrapping around her legs like a choking vine. She tried to regulate her breathing but failed when she was able to catch a glimpse of the people seated in the first few rows, her back no longer turned to them. She didn’t recognize anyone in the middle row of benches but the row on the right… 

Timinne was there, seated behind a few of the present representatives which Alys got to know through several Council of Twelve meetings she attended. Among those somewhat familiar faces was Joris, the sight of him sending her reeling and bringing up a sour but burning taste in the back of her throat.

She clenched her eyes shut as she cringed and swayed ever so slightly before she leveled herself and bit hard on her lower lip, the pang of pain barely overpowering the grueling regret that drowned her. The miracle she hoped for didn’t happen; she was a wife to someone who was only interested in the benefits of this union.

Gard was the one to step forward on the archbishop’s behest before he presented what he held to his Sire with a deep bowing of his head, the Eliatrope’s dismay staying unnoticed. There was only one wedding ring present on the cushion, a petite but simple and plain golden ring which was meant for her. Ernaldus’ so-called wedding ring would be his new crown, or so she was told.

Truly, nothing about this wedding was normal.

There would be no sharing of vows during the exchange of the ring, the betrothal not allowing it but also to not make things more awkward than they already were. To pledge their nonexistent love for each other was a mockery, the union more of a partnership and a business deal rather than two souls wanting to be united throughout the ages. 

The prince blindly took the ring from the held out cushion and paused for a second to either examine or admire it before reaching for her left hand with a rather swift motion. Did he notice her shaking when he held her hand or did he too think about how this was the very first time they actually touched each other? The realization made a shiver crawl up her spine as she stared at the golden band slipping around her finger, the physical contact disgusting her more than she thought it would. Ernaldus firmly pushed the ring up against her knuckle as if to ensure it would stay in place or to make clear she was his, the mild accompanying pain unintentional but making her tense up and increasing the want to pull her hand back.

The ring fitted her perfectly but then everything was supposed to be perfect this day.

The archbishop didn’t waste any time when Alys’ hand was released and the ring was where it should be, concluding the wedding ceremony with a simple,” under their eye and as our witness, the Gods bless this most sacred of vows and unify this man and this woman. I now pronounce they are husband and wife, until the end of their days.”

Until the end of their days… Goddess, she thought to herself when she closed her eyes in defeat, why did she have to be immortal?

The applause which followed was underwhelming but an applause nonetheless. There was no segment where the groom would receive permission to kiss the bride, or that he would lift her veil to gaze upon his now wife. Instead it was replaced by his coronation, one Ernaldus had looked forward to the most and impatiently waited for.

Alys didn’t dare to look towards the watching crowd, her ears feeling red hot while the strong beating of her heart thumped in her ears and deafened her, disappointment gnawing. This was not how the books she loves to read described it but then those books mostly ended happily, every written wedding a dream every girl wants to have. This was far from a happily ever after, though she would cling to the hope that perhaps one day she might experience it. This day, however, was not that day.

She stepped aside like she was instructed to do, making way for the prince so he could have his big moment and for her to get used to her new position. Although he will be the one in power and charge, she was his queen now, or would soon be. Her place was at his side though not too close to not weaken his image as a strong ruler, and not too far so nobody could find a weak link in their allegiance and so-called marriage. It was all about appearances, like it had been for her these past few days.

“We gathered here today not only to witness the union of two people and faiths, but to bear witness the rise of Brakmar’s new king,” the archbishop continued once it was only Ernaldus who stood before him, his voice ringing through the hall.

The Eliatrope may not look his way but she was all Joris had eyes for. He didn’t like this feeling… He didn’t like how far away she suddenly was from him, figuratively speaking. She was unfamiliar to him the moment that ring slipped around her finger and it angered him. 

He had tried to make his peace with this whole arrangement and told himself many times throughout these past few days that he needed to sever every tie he had with Alys so they both could move on and focus on what was important. A shame his stubbornness and nack for getting involved in matters which weren’t his to care for made it impossible to turn his back on this woman. It was why he made the promise to continue seeing her, even on the soil of Bonta’s rival. Not because it was thrilling to do so, though that did play a part in it, but because he genuinely cared about her. Why else did he regret every departure from her side? Every missed chance to ask her to stay or come with him?

He won’t admit it so easily, even though he tried a long time ago when she returned* from wherever Qilby had taken her, but she was important to him. There was a connection between himself and her which he couldn’t fully explain, one he tried to find the meaning behind for these past few years. Was it kinship, affinity or something deeper…? He didn’t know. He wanted to solve this mystery, though Brakmar did complicate it.

To sit in this audience and watch this charade was unbearable and an insult. He lost count of the many times he had to remind himself he was here as a representative of Bonta first and to keep an eye on things second, the little reminders all attempts to simmer down his frustrations. Listening in on the gossiping behind him wasn’t satisfying in the slightest, the Brakmarian nobles not having much good to say about their soon to be king and his new wife. Many snide remarks and sarcastic words were whispered and shared among the onlookers, the boredom or disinterest far too high for this royal affair. Only but a few seemed genuinely interested in the ongoings, the rare few being strong supporters of the court and this nation.

As the archbishop continued on about the oath the prince had to take, neither of the ambassadors in blue was listening. 

Alys felt empty as her eyes rested on the trim of the carpet she stood by, the golden thread peeking out from under the long red silk of her gown. She was so tired of seeing red, gold, and black… 

Although the newly gained ring around her finger was but a small weight, it felt as if it was tightening and cutting off the blood flow the deeper she fell into the darkness of her own despair. The urge to pull it off and cast it aside burned as brightly as the sun, every little voice of reason screaming in her mind. It was difficult to think or focus, unable to hear herself or find the right voice to listen to. 

The glinting of the new golden crown brought her awareness back to the surface, her gaze rising from the floor to see the archbishop hold aloft the royal headpiece which would make Ernaldus king. The crown was larger and more impressive than the dinky one he wore before, every point decorated with a red ruby which shone in the glow of the temple’s light. 

His lips moved but she didn’t hear the words. He was taking the oath, the prince far too arrogant to kneel and therefore standing proud and tall before the archbishop who waited for him to make his promises to the world so he could bestow him with that crown. Goddess, he couldn’t even do a coronation right… 

It must be nice to be born with a golden spoon in your mouth. Ernaldus was spoiled and given everything at birth. A title, riches and a future as ruler of land, armies, and people. He never truly worked for anything he owned, not even her or the followers he had. He walked across other people’s back to reach the top and because he hardly heard the word ‘no’ in his life, he believed himself to be superior. Was he ever truly loved, be it by his parents or his followers? Did he even know what it was or was it like an illusion to him?

The quiet wonder got quickly lost within the raging turmoil, her care fading to but a small ember which was about to get extinguished. Alys wanted this day to draw to an end, along with all the following days to come. Let it be over… Let her attend to her newly gained duties, to drown in the tasks and forget what she sacrificed for all those children she looked after.

Her focus returned far too slowly when the crown was finally placed on Ernaldus’ dark hair, reality making itself known to her with an obnoxious hiss-like whisper in her ear. She straightened up to remain poised while fidgeting with the wedding band around her finger, unable to fully hide her discontentment as she quietly scoffed at the man before her.

There stood the new king of Brakmar and her husband, King Ernaldus Laenard Pompudius the Second, proud and full of himself.

The attending crowd applauded when their freshly crowned king turned to face them and spread his arms as if to bask in their praises, his heavy cloak sweeping across the steps of the altar with the boastful motion. One could easily see he was pleased with his newly gained stature and title and from the sounds of it, at least half of the present Brakmarians were just as pleased. He grabbed the moment with both his hands and relished the admiration and attention he was showered in while his wife kept to the side.

Joris, who stood out like an eyesore with his blue coat in the darkly clad crowd, had begrudgingly joined in on the applause though it was with heavy reluctance and distaste, his clapping weak and much shorter in length. Three times he brought his gloved hands together in formality before dropping them down and sticking them into his pockets, soon huddling away in his hood. He was instantly alert and searched for the fastest way to leave the temple once this whole ceremony was done and over with. It should be soon. He couldn’t wait to leave, his patience and tolerance at an all-time low.

This whole unbearable mess had lasted for long enough.

Ernaldus inwardly chuckled at the back of his throat when he lowered his arms, believing his coronation was a success. This couldn’t have gone any better. Within a single day, he was finally king and had gained privileges with one of the more powerful people to inhabit the World of Twelve. Or, well, kind of inhabited this world. How long would it take to prepare those children for coming to this world? Not that it mattered right now; such thoughts could wait. This was his moment, his glory and he would enjoy it.

He grinned as he gazed upon his followers and allies, his chest swelling with pride for himself. He will make a speech which will be remembered throughout the ages, words which will bolster his people and grant him their loyalty and servitude. After that, he will show a hint of kindness to his new wife and queen, perhaps offer some of those resources which were promised during the negotiations for an allegiance between Brakmar and the Eliatropes. He needed to gain her favor now that she could no longer turn away from him.

Those Dofus… They were his as long as he kept her content. With the worries about getting married and crowned gone, he could place his efforts in pleasing her and her inexperienced young king, that troublemaking boy. It was going to be easy now that he was king, so very easy.

The grin he held grew ever so slightly at the empowering thought until it suddenly twitched and faded. His pleased expression shifted to a visage of confusion until his eyes slowly opened further and his throat tightly clenched. A look of horror washed over him before his cheeks bulged and he tried to stifle a surfacing cough, red staining his white powdered chin as it crept down his lower lip. 

An eerie silence followed when everyone in the temple became aware something was amiss, every single pair of eyes pinned on the king. Nobody dared to move, afraid that stirring the pressing silence would cause a catastrophe. Some didn’t want to get involved, others had a burning curiosity as to what exactly happened and yet the temple was still and everyone remained in their seat.

Alys stood like frozen as she stared at the two arrows which stuck out of Ernaldus’ back and pinned his cloak to him, her breath taken from her by the shock of seeing him getting struck right before he could start his speech. It happened so fast, without warning and without a sound. If she had blinked, she would have missed it.

Her shoulders heavily shuddered with the small inhale she managed to make, unable to believe what she just witnessed. Was it real? Where did those arrows come from?

Another gasp of air filled her lungs and made her muscles shake, every ounce of strength in her legs fading. She was close to collapsing when many glints like flickering stars high above forced her to tear her eyes away from her wavering husband, a scream bubbling up in her throat as the glinting turned out to be something absolutely terrifying.

Alys’ shrill screams of terror filled the temple when she was grabbed and yanked back by two strong hands right as a hail of knives and arrows came raining down from the darkened ceiling, the projectiles audibly cutting through the air. The sickening sound of every blade and arrowhead sinking into Ernaldus’ back couldn’t overpower the Eliatrope’s blood curdling screaming, every missed shot tearing up the red carpet which grew darker in color with the spilled blood. The jerking of his body and limbs with every strike was an awful sight to behold, yet he kept standing while every inch of his back got filled with silver and steel.

It felt like an eternity until the deadly silver rain came to an end, the whole temple in pure shock and awe. It wasn’t until Ernaldus started to sway and slumped forward that panic broke out and everyone tried to scramble to safety, his lifeless and riddled body falling down the altar steps while his splendorous crown rolled across the floor. It kept on rolling until it made a sharp turn and started to spin until it came to a complete stop after gently clinking against a blood coated dagger which lay on the floor.

The wedding and coronation were over. The miracle Alys had prayed and hoped for came true.

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Blank Canvas, chapter 24.  
> *: See Blank Canvas, chapter 27.


	10. Bonds That Bind Us

 

It was eerily calm outside of the Brakmarian temple. The sealed gates were like a lid which kept the chaos contained, but it didn’t hide everything that was going on. The castle and temple grounds became dangerous territory as soon as the wedding and coronation came to a bloody end, every corner and path carefully watched by people who had no right to be in Brakmar. Though no matter the vigor these unwelcome strangers acted with, they were luckily not aware of all the ongoings.

Three individuals dressed in blue and silver were looking for a way into the sealed off temple without raising any unwanted attention, their efforts fruitless after they found an unguarded side door. Vapors and smoke rose from the metal and wood which deteriorated from the strong acidic concoction applied to the lock, the man sitting crouched before the door looking pensive as he stared at the acid doing its work.

“Any luck, Diego?”

The Sram didn’t look up from his handiwork when he heard the question before he shook his head and applied more of the acid to the lock he tried to break. “No dice, Maddock. These gates and walls are far too thick and heavily fortified,” he said from behind his mask before he tilted his head back to see the two others behind him,” I hardly have any acid left and I am not even close to getting through.”

“This is bad,” Maddock mumbled and looked over towards his female companion, the woman dropping a knocked out guard onto the ground after she dragged him around the corner to get out of sight. “I hope you have better news for me, Varessi,” he said when she started to search through the guard’s belongings.

Varessi was thorough while checking every available pocket and pouch, patting the guard down and searching behind the loose fitting armor before she shifted her focus to another unconscious guard and repeat the motions. “I wish…” she sighed,” these guards are like the others we encountered; fake. There is no insignia or a hint of who these people are. They all seem random and unrelated to one and another, save from the white tabards and cloaks they wear. All I can tell you is that they really like white and obviously have a grudge against Brakmar… or weddings.” She shrugged to make her uncertainty clear before she pushed herself up and brushed her hands off,” I still can’t believe we didn’t notice them skulking about.”

“Like shadows in the shadows,” Maddock grumbled as he stood with his arms folded across his chest,” their awareness of our presence may have given them an advantage but they didn’t manage to incapacitate us completely. A for effort though…” He eyed the knocked out guards, the same ones that ambushed them when they tried to sneak into the temple. Those guards, or whatever they were, knew exactly who the Bontarian infiltrators were but luckily underestimated their skill sets and strength. “We need to find out what is happening inside the temple and fast. Lives could be at stake.”

“You think this is an assassination attempt?”

Varessi nodded at Diego’s guess,” sure looks it, but who exactly is the target? We would have noticed any suspicious activity around Ernaldus, let alone an increased interest, and the same goes for the Lady Alys. There was nothing out of the ordinary, safe from the whole arranged marriage gobball crap.”

“This whole coop might be months if not years old, judging by the scale of it. It had the time to weave itself deep into the daily lives around here and become a part of the norm. Not even the Brakmarian spymasters seem to have picked up on what was unfolding under their noses and those guys are difficult to fool.” Maddock’s long pointy ears twitched when a soft hush sounded and interrupted his speculations, his whole posture becoming more alert until it settled when two familiar faces came around the corner.

The approaching large brute looked a little silly in the tight bodysuit he and the others wore, the pieces of silver armor looking flimsy when compared to his blocky and broad build. In front of him was a much more petite but curvy figure who was completely overshadowed by his size though her large green eyes were striking and quickly demanded all the attention.

Maddock was pleased with the return of his teammates, the group no longer spread out across the place. He trusted each member well enough to know they could fend for themselves but he rather had everyone accounted for with the current issues. “Glad to see you both are safe. What’s the situation at the castle?”

Reyna was the one to report when she and Bernal joined the others, soon finding her spot beside Varessi,” it’s the same as here. The castle is under complete lockdown with these white cloaks stationed at every door, gate and corner. Nobody goes in or out and anyone who tries is struck down or taken captive. These people are ruthless…”

Bernal only grunted to verify what the female Sram shared, his nodding slow but firm.

“I don’t know about you guys, but it sounds like we are severely outnumbered here.”

Maddock had to agree. While Diego was usually the overdramatic one and prone to overact or be a little on the negative side, he was right in this case. These strangers were everywhere and they were well organized. “I don’t want to think the worst but I have a feeling that this wedding isn’t going as Brakmar planned it.” He eyed the building before turning his gaze to Bernal and motioned with a tilt of his head towards the door Diego was still working on opening. “It’s up to you now, big guy. Try and break that door down. We need to get in there, oversee the situation and then save who we can, if possible… or needed. If it is it turns out the situation is far too severe for us to handle, we’ll need to retreat.”

The giant Sram complied with a determined look in his visible eyes before he lumbered up behind Diego to investigate the door he was supposed to bust down, once more grunting from deep down his throat like a long thoughtful hum. This door was no joke, even he could see it. It was fortified wood with a thickness suitable for a castle wall gate. It won’t break so easily but perhaps there is a good chance once Diego is done tampering with the lock. 

The much leaner Sram continued picking at the lock while Bernal inspected the door, each drop of acid he applied making the metal sizzle and weaken. “This should do it, I hope,” he muttered when he applied the final drop before he backed away to make some room and carefully corked the empty vial, unable to do much more. It’s in the hands of the one with brute strength. 

The muscles in Bernal’s thick neck popped as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles to get ready for some bashing, the others looking on while also keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings. This was not going to be a quiet form of entry and after they got ambushed by whoever had infiltrated Brakmar, they rather not go through another. Bernal’s large fists rammed against the wooden surface with powerful thrusts after he finished assessing the door, each punch making him grumble and grunt more loudly. 

Time was running out, the situation not calling for finesse. They had no idea what was happening inside the temple, unaware that the newly crowned king was already dead.

\--------------------~*~--------------------

There was no laughter, no music and no chiming of wedding bells or clinking glasses. The symphony of happiness one would expect from a wedding was replaced by the chords of chaos which swept through the temple the moment Ernaldus hit the floor with his last dying breath. The crown he had savored for but a few seconds gleamed like the many sharp objects stuck in his back, each knife and arrow a pillar of victory in a growing sea of red.

When panic rose and took hold, only but a few of the stronghearted noticed a sudden increase of the color white amidst the guests and the dark interior. Cloaks and robes were quietly but quickly discarded and disguises were torn away to reveal many of the attending guests were not who they were supposed to be. Even the guards posted by the exits, statue, and altar revealed themselves to be wearing white underneath the golden and red Brakmarian armor and soon enough drew their armaments at the panicking crowd. 

The instinct to flee and survive took over and drove most of the terrified guests towards the sealed off exits, desperate to find a way out but unable to. Their cries filled the large hall while anyone who was foolish or brave enough to question the guards with violence got struck down by silver blades and spears. Those who listened to the strangers dressed in white or cowered away were spared. Anyone who tried to make their way to the fallen king or the captured queen was stopped in their tracks by more of the white-clad knights and warriors forming a crescent-shaped line of defense around the altar. 

Joris was one of the first to jump to his feet when the bladestorm crashed down on the king of Brakmar and Alys’ screaming filled the hall but he didn’t get far. He was surrounded by five men the moment he dove off the bench and pushed aside the representatives who were trying to flee, his uncertainty about the situation staying his hand rather than fight. He eyed the five assailants to figure out who they were or what group they belonged to, wishing he had his hammer with him while he kept his hands raised.

He should have known something like this would happen but he had no idea what the motive could be behind this madness. If these people were only after Ernaldus, they wouldn’t have sealed off the temple and locked everyone in. How long ago did they infiltrate Brakmar and take over security? Was there a single guard of Brakmar present or were they all fake? The latter appeared to be true, for there was hardly any resistance from armed forces.

What of Alys? Her screaming had stopped.

The master crouched ever so slightly as he peered past the legs of the knights before him towards the altar, the tension in his muscle making his limbs tremble like a wound spring. He could see the Eliatrope struggling to break free from her captor, another fake guard donning a white hooded cloak. She was unharmed but far from being safe, no matter that the altar was currently the calmest place inside the temple, almost like the eye of a storm.

“Let go of me!” The fear she felt was present in her voice as she tugged and pulled with her whole body to get her arms free from whoever had pulled her back and saved her from the deadly silver hail, the grip on her wrists painfully tight. The cool metal of the gauntlets pinched her skin and made her squirm while her arms were bent behind her back, the high fur collar of her gown preventing her from seeing who exactly was behind her.

“Calm yourself, Lady Alys. We have no intention to hurt you.” The voice of the archbishop reached her and was like a sedative which caused her to pause in her struggle, her large hidden eyes turning to the robed and hooded figure who was miraculously unharmed after the knives and arrows came down from the ceiling.

“Who--who are you? What have you done?”

The archbishop didn’t answer her right away, his white-clad hands reaching for the rim of his heavy hood before he drew it back and shrugged off the oversized and dusty old priest robes. It all dropped onto the carpeted floor of the altar without much care, soon revealing a middle-aged man dressed in pure white, his wavy brown locks combed back across his scalp while a single wing on his back stretched and fluttered after receiving freedom, the other wing but a small broken stump. 

Alys stared at the Eniripsa in horror before she stammered,” doctor…?”

He looked her way when she recognized him, his familiar smile and the way he closed his eyes causing the previous pleasant memories she had of him to be distorted in a scary way. “You are a long way from home, Alys, but then so am I. This cesspit is nothing like Emelka, is it?” he asked, his calmness not fitting the panic which swirled around the altar,” to think it was about to become your new home.”

She couldn’t believe her eyes. This man was the village doctor, Varden. He healed her on several occasions* and was there when her little brothers were sick with a cold or sprained an ankle. He visited the Crunchy Gobball nearly every morning and evening to enjoy Alibert’s cooking and was adored by many of the villagers. He was always so kind to her and her family. Why was he here, of all places? Why was he dressed like this and why… Her line of thinking strayed when she looked away from the doctor in search for answers, the sight of chaos and the lifeless body of her husband the only answered she needed. 

“Brakmar... The safe haven for those who are unworthy to walk on the soil gifted to us by the Gods. To willingly live alongside demons is a sin. To allow them in our midst is a crime. To indulge them with our company is an abomination. But no more…” The doctor’s smile disappeared to make way for a neutral expression after he followed her gaze and watched the masses crowding the sealed exits. “We will purge this unholy city and beyond and will not rest until all Shushus harbored by sinners are exterminated. Master Joris.”

The sharp calling of his name didn’t flinch him, his intense glare almost hidden in the darkness of his hood. The small master was an intimidating force brewing amidst the small circle of men surrounding him but no one backed away to give him his space and neither did he move when the Eniripsa demanded his attention.

“Your presence here is no surprise with your standing as Bonta’s famed representative and we will, therefore, excuse and spare you. We have no quarrel with Bonta. After all, we share your desire in upholding justice, peace, and purity in this world, like the Gods intended.

“I have no interest in whoever you are,” Joris snapped with steady nerves,” but do not lot Bonta in with your delusional beliefs. You murder innocents for your cause. You have blood on your hands you can never be redeemed for. Bonta will never--”

”The White Cloaks of Virtue follow and uphold the teachings and virtues of Menalt*,” Varden cut in,” we are the successors of his Order of the Valiant Heart. You know of it, Master Joris, and you know it well. The Order was Bonta’s strongest line of defense during the first and second Crimson Dawn. Menalt gave his life to saving Bonta and the rest of this world from Rushu’s hunger and yet his demonic servants are still among us. Pampered, enjoyed and respected by people like him.” He pointed at Ernaldus to make his point. 

Fanatics. Of course it had to be this type of people to cause trouble. It explained a great deal about how this lockdown was handled but Joris knew one thing for sure; fanatics could be unpredictable. Who knew what they might do next.

“We know of your partnership with a Shushu,” the Eniripsa continued, the tone in his voice foreboding,” but we will overlook it. Your prior achievements and all you have done in the name of Bonta is enough to grant you pardon, as long as you don’t stand in our way.”

That was a threat and one Joris would remember.

“And you, our lovely but unfortunate lady…” Alys shrunk behind her veil when Varden turned his attention to her. “Your strength is admirable. To think you were forced to marry a demon worshipper and support Brakmar’s twisted visions after doing this world a great service. It is a shame many do not know about what you’ve done but the White Cloaks do and we honor you for it.”

Whatever was he talking about? Alys tried to back away from the imposter but she was kept in place by firm and strong hands. 

Varden picked up on her confusion, even with the black veil hiding her face from him. He dared to advance and close the distance between them, his approach only making her struggle more to break free and get away from someone she once trusted. “You rid us of Malaphar and his Crimson Brigands*, one of the White Cloaks’ greatest threats. You slew a demon. Surely you agree that it is an accomplishment you deserve praise for.”

Praise? No… She killed someone and that was a guilt she was still coping with. Her actions that day not only put an end to Malaphar but also killed many others in the process. The Brigands weren’t innocent but they didn’t deserve to die. Just like him… Alys could barely look at Ernaldus when she thought about him, the fact he was murdered refusing to sink in, the whole situation far too surreal. And to think that this man standing before her aided her in her recovery from the injuries she received during the fight against Malaphar… It disgusted her.

“I do not want your honor,” she whispered, her voice shaking,” or your respect. You healed so many… You did good in this world and now… no. No matter what you’ve done for me, the boys and Emelka, or how much you praise me for killing a man, the Eliatropes will not join your cause, neither support it.” 

His neutral expression changed with the raising of his brows, a look of mild surprise washing over him before he gave her a small smirk. “I saw this coming, but I am certain you will change your mind. Same for Bonta.” He turned his head to see Joris when he mentioned the White City but only received a silent scowl in return… as expected. That little man can be quite scary but Varden didn’t fear him, the amount of White Cloaks he had under his banner far too great to worry about one lone fighter.

“If not,” a sudden singsong voice sounded before an arm crept around Alys’ neck like a black and brown snake,” we will either make or break you.”

Alys tried not to buckle when the hooked arm around her neck yanked her down and forward, the pain in her arms spiking as her hooded captor refused to give her any room to move while he continued to hold her arms bent behind her back. Her heart steeply dropped when her face was brought close to the one who had pulled her down like a heavy necklace, the dark complexion and blank eyes unsettlingly familiar.

The woman grinned a known wide grin as she slightly lifted the black veil to peek under it, the expression she found on the Eliatrope’s face one of shock and detest but mostly shock. “Hello Alys,” she said with the same singsong voice from before while turned the grin became more menacing and foreboding,” it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Her voice was lost as Alys’ mind tried to make sense of things. Of all places and times, this is where she meets the Sacrier who lived to make her miserable. Royale was easy to recognize, even with washed hair, clean skin and a new outfit in blinding white. It was two years ago she last saw her, right before she was entrapped within a cocoon of vines* to end her mad rampage. There was no rage this time, no desperation or crazed insanity, just a grin and the usual mockery and playfulness she knew Royale to have.

“Congratulations on your marriage. You always did have an exquisite taste in men, Alys. I mean, what a catch,” Royale snickered and grabbed for Alys’ chin to forcefully turn her head and have her look at Ernaldus’ corpse,” so _lively_.”

Alys refused to look, her wide-eyed gaze skipping over the body to black it out in her mind and view. She instead caught sight of Joris and felt all her senses abruptly turning to him as if he was the lifeline she needed, the men surrounding him ignored though they worried her. The long veil she wore prevented their eyes from meeting and locking but she took solace from the fact he was keeping a close eye on her. He was waiting for the right moment to intervene and act, the small master severely outnumbered.

As she pulled her chin free from Royale’s hand with a quick turn of her head and tried to shrug her off, Varden suddenly spoke up with but a single word. “Brother.” The look on his face betrayed he wasn’t in a good mood as he waited for a response to his calling and soon enough someone stepped through the wall of armed White Cloaks protecting the altar, his white mask standing out in the black of his hood. “Your leash is too long,” Varden said once the Masqueraider joined his side and stood beside him like a quiet shadow, their focus on the Sacrier,” reel her in.”

The pout Royale showed was a fake one, her little sound of disappointment overdone as she leaned more heavily on the restrained Eliatrope. “Aww, come on. Let a girl reunite with her bestest of besties in pe--”

“ _GARD_?!”

The sudden angered scream caused a few heads to turn and yet the one the name belonged to reacted the slowest. Almost all eyes were on Timinne, the Huppermage kept pressed down onto the floor by several White Cloaks in the middle of the long aisle. She put up quite a fight when Ernaldus was struck down but like Joris, she didn’t get far and was quickly overpowered by the prepared imposters.

“ _You filthy traitor_! All this time! Ernaldus trusted you and you killed him! He was your Liege!” She fumed with a glare which could destroy a Crackler but her outrage didn’t faze Gard in the slightest as he watched her in silence from behind his mask. “I’ll have your head for this!” she screamed, the eruption of flames from her restrained hands causing several of her captors to reel back before one quickly doused the flames with their own magic. The splash of water made her squirm after it soaked the leather of her gloves before she screamed in rage,” _all of your heads_!”

“Wow,” Royale whistled and finally removed her arm from around Alys’ neck to take a large step back and slump a little in her posture with a mocking grin after setting a hand on her hip,” someone is hormonal.”

Varden rose his hand to gesture for Royale to shut up, a melancholic grimace resting on his face. He sighed with a lowering of his shoulders as she watched the Huppermage fight to get up her feet before he said less boisterous than before,” it was you who avenged our slain brother by murdering your own father, Timinne. Our brother’s death was the tipping point behind our crusade, the push we needed to start acting.”

There was a pause in her struggle but her glare didn’t subside, her curiosity and confusing making her hesitant. Hesitation was something she wasn’t fully familiar with and it made her uncertain, the desire to hear Varden’s explanation behind his words and what it stirred inside of her taking the upper hand. Was he speaking of her husband?... Their brother?

“We know how much you loved him… You turned your back on this place to be with him. We thank you for that, we thank you for the love you felt for him and that you made him happy. It was truly inspirational to our cause. But… we won’t hold back on adding you to the culling of the heretics if you continue with placing Brakmar on a pedestal.”

By the Gods and beyond. Timinne stared at Varden, speechless by the revelation. Her anger didn’t have her notice it before but he almost looked like the man she eloped with and lost to her father’s disapproval. These two men leading this onslaught were her husband’s family. Suddenly things started to make sense even though it only angered her more. It was true. Gard didn’t appear at the prince’s side until a while after her husband died and she returned to Brakmar and set her father’s execution in motion. But that was years ago… Had this plan been in motion for this long? Utter madness.

“You besmirch his memory with this stupid crusade of yours!” she spat with newfound grief, her struggle to break free flaring once more,” you bastards are destroying everything for nothing!”

He didn’t hide that her words hurt him, the grimace he wore growing darker before he closed his eyes and nodded, apparently making his peace that she was lost to them. He exchanged a glance with Gard before he nodded again like a quiet answer to a wordless conversation, unable to read his brother’s face but still knowing what he felt and thought. 

Although they didn’t see eye to eye, Alys’ heart reached out to Timinne. She knew the story even though she never asked to know it. To think Gard was speaking of his brother then when he told her about Timinne’s husband and father… Did it hurt when he shared it with her? Was he still mourning his loss? To imagine the Masqueraider with feelings felt alien and to bring up sympathy for him was complicated but she emphasized with the losses everyone endured and led to this mess.

“You’ve chosen your side then,” Varden said with a hint of remorse but he steeled himself to not lose sight of what he tried to achieve this day and the next. He looked over to the line of White Cloaks in front of him with a hardened look before he rose his voice and spoke up,” slay the Brakmarians and apprehend any Shushu they might carry. Those who resist or fight back will suffer the same fate.”

“ _NO_!” 

Alys’ plea fell on deaf ears and same went for the objections coming from anyone present in the temple. The desperate cries from before swelled in volume when the White Cloaks obeyed and advanced, the panic returning tenfold among the masses. Every attempt to flee was quickly thwarted until one of the exits slammed open with a loud echo and the door broke free from its hinges. A large hulking figure appeared in the doorway before rushing forward to punch a nearby White Cloak straight in the face after he turned to see where in the blazing the flying door came from, soon clearing a path.

“Spread out!” Maddock’s voice sounded behind Bernal when he ran into the temple, the Sram closely followed by Varessi, Reyna and Diego before they broke away to do as they were told and get into the fray. 

The sudden arrival of the Bontarian Srams was a distraction many took advantage of. Timinne broke free with ease when the men restraining her were startled by the invasion, albeit small with only five blue-clad Srams. She knocked most of them back with one of her air spells before quickly following it with an ice spell to freeze them in place, incapacitating them within the blink of an eye. The slippery and frozen aisle propelled her forward after she got up and made a straight beeline towards Varden and Gard, the flexing of her hands breaking any of the ice shards which had formed on her wet gloves and sleeves.

The leap she made at Varden got intercepted by Gard like a lightning strike, the astral rapier which was her signature weapon missing its target after she summoned it to strike at least one of the brothers down, preferably the leader of this madness. She caught a glimpse of Royale brushing by after Gard pushed her back, the Sacrier wise enough to not pick a fight with the Huppermage as she knew Timinne’s reputation all too well. She instead went for far easier prey amidst the crowd which tried to escape through the exit Bernal opened up to them, picking them off and dealing with them in her own way.

The fight which erupted between Gard and Timinne was a good distraction for the nearby Eliatrope and her captor, the sudden hope the Bontarians brought along with them bringing some clarity to the disarray in her head and the fear which wrapped around her heart.

Alys gathered enough concentration to collect a fragment of her Wakfu in her hands, the flickering glow gaining the attention of her captor. The White Cloak frowned at it while his grip on her wrists tightened to the point she could feel her bones twist but she bit through it. The wedding ring around her finger heated up with the build-up of Wakfu before a flash erupted from the palms of her hands and blinded the man, buying her but a second of freedom. She had enough leeway to yank her arms loose after the flash startled the White Cloak and made him fumble, the Eliatrope diving forward to get out of his reach but she didn’t get far.

She stifled a yelp when she was brought to a sudden halt after the man she tried to get away from stepped on the back of her gown and grabbed for the large fur collar while drawing his sword. The piece of spotted fur was torn off after he gave it a strong tug and she pushed forward, the golden skull brooch which kept it pinned to her gown falling to the floor with a dampened clink. He angrily threw the fur piece aside while Alys struggled to get away with the constraints of her tight gown, his gauntlet-clad hand reaching for her once more with grasping fingers.

A pained scream escaped her when he grabbed her by her tied up hair to close the distance between them and not let her get away, but he didn’t expect what she did next and neither did she as she acted on pure instinct and improvisation. She flung her arms back, her glowing fingers leaving a long arched trail of cyan before the Wakfu cluttered together and became solid, the partial shield she summoned uppercutting the White Cloak right in the jaw. 

His head snapped back from the impact, the hold he had on her hair slipping until he regained his senses and frustration flared. He swiped at her with his blade, his aim poor as he stumbled back while she fell forward. 

A gasp was stuck in her throat when she heard a sharp sound right before a wheat colored lock of hair brushed past the edge of her vision, the painful grip the White Cloak had on her tied up hair and scalp suddenly gone. A cascade of her hair swirled through the air and down her shoulders before every curling strand fell onto the floor or remained clutched between the man’s fingers, the blade having cut the bun straight off by pure accident and sheer luck.

There was no time to think about it or to let it sink in. The window of escaping grew smaller with every passing second.

Joris kicked back one of his assailants to gain some room in the small circle he was kept in, every White Cloak he downed replaced by another. They kept on coming to stop the famed master of Bonta and prevent him from interfering but he wasn’t planning on giving up either. There was a fraction of a second where he could shift his focus to the Eliatrope, the one he desperately tried to reach, though what he saw caused him to waver.

Time slowed down when he caught sight of Alys trying to run after her hair got cut, only to suddenly stop and lean back with a terrifying jerking of her whole body, a look of terror washing over her. Her lips parted and her mouth opened wide as if she was about to scream but no sound escaped her when a long silver blade pierced her from behind, the sword sinking into her lower back with a precise stab.

“Alys…!” All Joris could do was whisper her name under his breath when time sped up again and he barely got a hold of himself, his eyes large in shock. He didn’t waste a second, the frenzy he felt burning and expanding in his chest spread through his whole body like a hot wildfire. His fists clenched before he feverishly leaped at the White Cloak closest to him and delivered a powerful punch before directing himself at the next one to knock them back and break through, every sense lost as his whole being was focused on reaching the Eliatrope.

Varden’s stoic exterior began to crack when he caught wind of something happening and saw the Eliatrope falter from the corner of his eyes, his head slowly turning towards the spectacle with a growing and confused frown. “ _You idiot_ ,” he hissed at Alys’ captor through clenched teeth once he understood what happened, his frustration taking a hold of him. 

“Jurgen!” 

The sharp calling of his last name barely reached him though he looked to where the voice came from after he landed back on his feet and prepared himself for another attack, his blood boiling. He caught a glimpse of Maddock amidst the fighting crowd, the Sram throwing something heavy his way after he called for him. His mallet. 

Joris’ eyes narrowed before he jumped up and grabbed for one of the White Cloaks to gain some altitude, the kick he delivered mid jump knocking out a few teeth and bringing another White Cloak down. He tightly gripped the handle after catching his hammer from the air, soon enough dropping back onto the floor as gravity pulled him down. He spun around like a small whirlwind the moment the soles of his feet touched the floor, the wooden weapon swinging like a mighty swift force and ramming it into anyone who stood in the master’s way.

Alys slowly slumped onto the floor when her knees buckled after the White Cloak withdrew his sword to no longer skewer her, a burning and agonizing sensation numbing her. She tried to gasp for air while her head was cast back and her eyes were on the ceiling, unfocused and fading. She felt her precious blood leaving her and stain the gown she wore, its warmth quickly becoming cold and sticky.

The White Cloak took a single step back after she collapsed before he leaned over her to check if she was still breathing, unaware he had done something foolish. He was suddenly knocked off his feet by a massive force hitting him relentlessly in the head, the heavy blow making him stumble to the side and trip over his own feet before he blacked out.

Joris was at Alys’ side before the White Cloak he struck with his mallet hit the ground, inspecting her wound while she wheezed and tried to keep herself up on an elbow, the Eliatrope trembling. “Breathe, Alys,” he said, sounding unnaturally calm though his heart raced and his nerves shook, his mind in disarray,” you have to breathe.” She was bleeding profoundly… He pressed a hand against the bleeding gap in her flesh to apply pressure and hopefully stop or lessen the bleeding, his worry for her wellbeing beginning to cloud his judgment. He forced himself to look around and assess the situation, finding it hard to focus though he barely managed.

The panic was high inside the temple. The five Bontarian infiltrators were fighting tooth and nail to save whoever they could from the White Cloaks’ vindication, the lifeless body of Ernaldus completely forgotten about. Timinne was still locked in combat with Gard while Royale was having her own little fun by terrorizing any of the unfortunate souls trapped inside the temple. Amidst the chaos was Varden, a calm presence which was almost like a shining beacon of hope… even though he was nothing of the sort. The leader of the White Cloaks of Virtue slowly stepped up beside the corpse of the prince after Joris glanced his way, their gazes crossing with a silent message.

They were outnumbered, with nowhere to go and absolutely no threat. The White Cloaks were winning this fight.

“Maddock!”

Joris’ hoarse voice cut through the sounds of combat and many cries of anguish, the Sram responding to him with but a slight incline of his head after he kept one of the White Cloaks at bay. It only took a second for him to observe the situation before he nodded and rose a hand to ball it into a fist, a silent sign for his fellow Srams. It was time to retreat. “Diego!” he loudly added after he dropped his fist and began to back away with his daggers crossed before him like an improvised shield, inching closer towards the altar and wounded Eliatrope.

The other Bontarians followed suit to gather as close as they possibly could to each other before Diego took several vials from his belts and tossed them around, each vial caught by the intended people. 

“Drink this, quickly,” Joris hushed to Alys after he caught the final vial, uncorked it with his teeth and spat the cork aside, his eyes staying on Varden. He helped her with wrapping her trembling fingers around the long vial when she reached for it and guided it to her lips when she faltered, her strength waning. She managed to swallow half of the vial’s content when he carefully but urgently poured it into her mouth, only needing half for the potion to work. She started to turn translucent within seconds and flickered in his grasp like a ghostly apparition before suddenly disappearing in a burst of bubbles, leaving the master by himself in the turmoil. 

The White Cloaks were already advancing as the Bonta aligned Srams disappeared one by one after drinking a recall potion, the master soon being the last one standing. He grabbed for the handle of his mallet with a bloodied hand after Alys and his fellow Bontarians were no longer with him and rose to his feet while he chugged the remaining potion down, soon throwing the empty vial aside while he gave Varden a hateful glare. 

He dove forward and swung his mallet when the first advancing White Cloak was in reach, forcing the crusader back before he dispersed in midair, not leaving a trace of himself behind other than a few bubbles which rapidly popped and disappeared just like him.

Varden’s eyes narrowed after Bonta was quick to retreat, not liking how they escaped. This could prove to be a problem, a wrench in his well thought out plan which took years to come to fruition. He couldn’t leave this unattended… bur first, he had a city to deal with.

The rounded top of Joris’ hammer slammed against the marble floor when he reappeared after the recall potion took effect, the sounds of terror gone. The gloomy interior of the temple had made way for the white marble of Bonta’s throne room, its blue banners welcoming him back home. He rose from his crouching and released his weapon to find Alys, the wounded Eliatrope already surrounded by Varessi, Reyna and two confused palace guards. 

He quickly made his way over to them to kneel beside Alys and slip a hand under her head, carefully lifting it from the cool floor before he drew back her torn veil, her face twisted in anguish. She lay gasping for air as she struggled with the pain while barely conscious, all color having drained from her face.

“She needs a healer,” he said to anyone willing to listen after Alys acknowledged his presence with a weak fluttering of her eyelids and reaching fingers, the master trying to keep himself collected. “Inform His Majesty that his presence is required immediately. Bonta and Brakmar are in grave danger.”

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Traces, chapter 24.  
> *: Menalt, the previous Protector of the month Martalo. This centaur was the founder of the Order of the Valiant Heart and fought during the first (and second) Battle of the Crimson Dawn to protect Bonta. He was killed by one of Rushu’s most powerful henchmen, Hyrkul.  
> *: See Traces, chapter 45 - 47.  
> *: See Traces, chapter 34.


	11. Losses

 

The reddish-brown stains were distracting, the source behind them even more so. Joris slowly flexed his fingers and relaxed them before repeating the motion, his thoughts lost in the creases of the leather adorning his small hands. He should be listening but he had a hard time keeping his focus where it was requested to be. 

These stains were blood. Her blood. His head was still reeling from how rapidly everything happened and the spinning refused to stop. The screaming, the fighting, the tension and danger. It all stopped too abruptly and yet still lingered without a proper conclusion. Focus scattered and the chaos demanded order within a split second. Alys was whisked away incredibly fast to receive treatment after they all returned to the palace and he would have followed if he could. Duties, however, and his standing in the Bontarian court, demanded of Joris to place the Eliatrope and his concerns for her second.

The emergency meeting which followed was held in the throne room, the king sitting on his throne to listen to the concerning news. He was joined by anyone who was already present such as Maester Dormu, Lord Chamberlain Oliver Ponctuel, Spymaster Bestor, Sir Knight Savio, Master Joris and two members of Bonta’s Secret Intelligence Service, Maddock, and Diego. The message towards the other Royal Council members was already sent out but discussions couldn’t wait, the situation needing swift action. Maddock was giving his report to Bestor with quiet whispers, the Ouginak’s ears perking and lowering in between his nodding before his gaze shifted to King Theron, the look he held not boding well.

“This is a high alert situation, Your Majesty,” he said after he cleared his throat and Maddock took a few steps back to join Diego in the background once his report was done,” these White Cloaks of Virtue were sweeping through the city of Brakmar and had every inch of the castle grounds on lockdown during the coronation. Their infiltration into the city was well calculated and prepared; Brakmar didn’t stand a chance and nobody saw it coming.”

“Brakmar’s citizens are a strong lot and brave to boot,” Theron said, the expression he carried stoic and regal,” I suspect they won’t let some zealots trample over them; they are capable of protecting themselves. Nevertheless, Bonta will lend them their aid. While we don’t exactly see eye to eye with Brakmar, we are facing a common enemy. Bonta will not be associated with these White Cloaks, neither allow them to stain our banners with the blood they spill. They bring dishonor to the one they claim to represent…” 

“If I may, Your Highness,” Maddock cut in while holding his hand raised to show he meant no disrespect,” their numbers are extremely high but many of these people seemed either inexperienced or not standing fully behind the cause. The struggles within the temple were proof of that; they had trouble handling the swords they held and missed their targets more often than not. The White Cloaks of Virtue are not a collective and well-trained army by any means, but many mercenaries gathered under the same banner.”

Theron’s eyes slightly narrowed in thought. “Their numbers are concernings, no matter the inexperience any of them may have. They can still overwhelm any innocent and defenseless citizen and it is the citizens we need to be concerned about. Who exactly leads the White Cloaks? Are there any records on him?”

Bestor shook his head in answer after his floppy ears turned back before Joris spoke up,” the Lady Alys called him Doctor after he revealed himself.”

“She knows him?”

Joris stopped himself from shrugging to not step out of line, his mind still fuzzy from what happened. It was difficult to keep his usual stoic self in place. “They know each other from Emelka, though I do not know to which extent,” he answered after he hid his bloodstained hands behind his back, not wanting to be distracted any further even though all he could think about was the painful image of Alys getting stabbed,” I will make the wild guess he is the village doctor. She spoke of what he achieved with his healing capabilities when she confronted him. What we do know, by sheer luck I might add, is that he is related to the so-called assassin which caused some trouble during the masquerade ball His Majesty held two years back*.”

“The Masqueraider which Brakmar pardoned? Didn’t he turn out to be Ernaldus’ right-hand man and the assassination attempt he cried about then was nothing but a misunderstanding?” Bestor asked before he rubbed his chin to try and put the puzzle pieces together,” the Masqueraider’s position might just be the key behind the White Cloaks’ flawless infiltration of Brakmar…”

There was a shared silence as everyone gave it a moment of thought before the Iop standing next to Maester Dormu spoke up, speaking fairly frank. “Though, this time around the assassination was no fluke. Brakmar’s king is dead and an attempt on his wife’s life was made; such cannot remain unpunished. Bonta must make a stand and retaliate.”

“Agreed,” Theron sighed as he rubbed his hand across the rounded edge of his throne’s armrest while his grip on his cane tightened a little, seeming deep in thought. There was no time to ponder more about the background of the Eniripsa which was in charge of the White Cloaks; Brakmar was under siege and Bonta should act. “Savio, are your men ready to march to Brakmar?”

The Iop clad in shiny Bontarian armor snapped to attention before giving the king a firm nod,” yes, Sire.”

Theron nodded approvingly,” lead your battalion to Brakmar to aid the citizens and increase the defense around the Zaap at Morblue Hills. I am certain the White Cloaks will divert their attention to Bonta after what happened. After all, we have the queen of Brakmar in our protection and put up some resistance.” He glanced in the direction of Joris and the two present Srams to quietly hint on what happened in Brakmar. It was only a matter of time until the White Cloaks of Virtue would extend their crusade to other cities and Bonta was highly likely the next target. They had poked the bull by putting up a fight rather than acknowledge the White Cloaks as new allies.

“The safety of the denizens of Twelve come first,” Dormu agreed,” and I am by no means strategic minded, but I suggest strengthening Bonta’s defenses before the inevitable happens. Every guard force in the city needs to be ready.”

“I’ll have my people spread the message by tofu,” Bestor said to give Dormu’s suggestion his support,” if the reports hold merit, the White Cloaks only have eyes for any harbored Shushus. They’ll raid shops and homes to find any Shushu and that’s a knowledge we can use in our advantage. I can send any available heads in the BSIS* out into the streets to act as our guard forces’ eyes and ears. I will also send a few along with Sir Savio to gather reports in Brakmar.”

“Get on it, the both of you. We need to be ready.”

“At once, Sire,” Bestor and Savio said simultaneously before they hurried out of the throne room to start with the preparations, though not before Bestor gestured to Maddock and Diego to stay in the palace and await further orders.

Theron leaned back in his throne with a long drawn out sigh before he stroked his greying beard in a thoughtful and brooding manner, his mind working nonstop. “Oliver, prepare the war room,” he said to break the silence before he looked to the Chamberlain,” we will continue the discussions there once all available councilors have arrived.”

The white-haired Enutrof bowed for his king before he left the throne room with a hurry in his step, a bit flustered by the whole ordeal. A battle was coming to Bonta’s doorstep and such hadn’t happened in many years during his long-time service to the court. It was quite indeed worrying.

“I would like to hear your side of the story, Joris,” Theron continued after the door to the war room closed, his tired eyes resting on his knees. He sounded distracted but still genuinely interested in what the small master might share with him, needing to see the situation and what unfolded beforehand from different angles. 

Joris didn’t answer him right away, a pause slowing down his action before he gave the king and elderly Huppermage a small nod to comply, his worries for the Eliatrope pushed back once more to do what was required of him.

\--------------------~*~--------------------

  


Goddess, it burns so badly. It feels like her back is on fire and her insides are screaming and squirming.

Her fingers dug into the cushions of the bed she lay on to try and find release from the agonizing pain which coursed through her body, sweat staining her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Alys was holding back on making a sound while she endured the healing with the little energy she had left, the mending powers digging deep into her flesh to heal the internal damage. The brush and magical runes the court healer used were all but soothing, the struggle to endure the healing a tough one. It hurt more than it did good, or so it seemed.

“Hold still please,” the Eniripsa warned when the Eliatrope writhed underneath the bristles of his brush, not having had the time to apply a sedative as she was losing blood and consciousness far too quickly when she was brought to him. The green and yellow colors of his magicks had to naturally stitch up the torn flesh and organs, a delicate process which needed to be done properly so no further issues would follow. At least her spine was unscathed but her innards couldn’t say the same thing. That blade, or whatever stabbed her, went through them like a hot knife through butter and caused far too much damage for a single strike. Luckily, miraculous magic exists in this world thanks to the Gods and with some quick acting, the situation for the Eliatrope stabilized with each stroke of the brush.

Watching on were the three Srams who hurried Alys to the first healer they could find within the court. While Bernal and Reyna kept their distance to not get in the way of the healing process, Varessi was close by. “How is it?” She leaned a little closer to see the wound on Alys’ lower back, the cut in the blood coated flesh bathing in the lime glow of Eniripsian magic.

The Eniripsa didn’t look up from the mending to not break his concentration though answered her,” you can tell Theron that she’ll be fine. It was a deep cut but a clean one. There’s internal damage but nothing lasting. I will give her a rejuvenating elixir once I am done but she still needs to eat something to get her strength back. Bread with cheese, maybe.” He paused before he spoke to Alys directly without addressing her,” you haven’t been taking good care of yourself, ma’am.”

She didn’t respond, her thoughts too distant to grasp. The fact that her healer was a male Eniripsa concerned her but she tried to not judge all Eniripsas the same after Varden turned out to be some murder happy fanatic. The memories of him mending her injuries or caring for the villagers and her family sickened her, every one of those memories stained with lies and no longer bringing warmth to her heart. Who knew he was burning with a vengeance… he had never shown a hint of malice or dark thoughts.

Varessi lay her hand on Alys’ shoulder after the court healer’s lecture didn’t seem to have reached the Eliatrope, the sudden touch startling her. She was quick to smile to not worry Alys any further when she peered through the wild bangs framing her face before saying,” you hear that? You’re going to be okay.”

Alys stared for a moment, the look in her eyes glazed over before they softened with some clarity and a faint smile shimmered through her grimace, a small nod following. Was she though? The pain she felt made it impossible to see any silver linings, the fresh images and sounds of murder keeping the lulls of peace at bay. Even she knew a storm was brewing and that this whole ordeal was far from over. But… yes. She was going to be okay, one way or another.

The Sram stayed by the side of the bed when she turned half around to look at her two companions, noticing the pensive looks on their faces. The tension remained high, no matter that the new queen of Brakmar was in the clear. “Reyna, can you go and ask the Chamberlain for clean clothes? Anything will do,” she eventually said to break the lingering tension, the distraction she offered welcomed rather quickly.

Reyna brightened up a bit when she was given a task rather than stand around in silence with Bernal and jumped to her feet before she hurried off with a nod, her voice trailing off,” I’ll be back soon.”

“Let’s hope she’ll catch some news along the way…” Varessi sighed before her pointy ears perked up when the healer’s brush was lifted and the glow it emitted dimmed, revealing the fresh pink of mended flesh through the tear in the wedding gown.

“I mended all I can,” the Eniripsa said as he wiped the brush off with a cloth before dipping his hands in the nearby bowl to wash them,” take one of those purple vials from my kit and give it to her. She has to drink it to the last drop, don’t waste it. Alchemy isn’t cheap.” He watched as Varessi complied before he turned his attention back to Alys and dried his hands, the water in the bowl orange in color. “I would advise you to rest but that seems impossible from what I’ve gathered. Be careful for the time being and don’t do anything stupid, that’s all I can say to you.”

Alys gave a nod in answer and appreciation before she took the uncorked vial from Varessi and drank the purple contents, her stomach not agreeing with the salty brew after enduring the pain and disgusting recall potion. It clearly showed on her face, the disgusted shudder which went through her whole body felt by Varessi as her hand remained on the Eliatrope’s shoulder. “Thank you,” came the weak and hoarse reply after Alys suppressed a cough and the elixir stayed down, thirst starting to swell. A glass of water and a slice of bread with cheese sounded heavenly all of a sudden.

“You’re welcome,” was all he said before he gathered his kit and brush and made his way over to the door, his work done. He didn’t need to know the details of what had happened, neither who the woman was or what would happen next. He was already happy enough he could have helped with healing the stranger. 

Bernal carefully closed the door behind the Eniripsa as he had his hands full before he looked over to the two women by the bed. Varessi was examining the healer’s handiwork while Alys tried to sit up, though a wince caused him to straighten up and grunt inquiringly.

“She’s fine, Bernal,” Varessi smirked at the Sram’s concern,” just a little sore, hm?”

Alys tilted her head somewhat to give a halfhearted answer, not fully capable of saying yes or no. 

If only it was a little. Her back still felt like it was too close to a fire, every fiber in her being feeling uncomfortably hot. And the gown… The torn black silk felt sticky and pulled at her sensitive skin as she moved, only increasing the discomfort with the alarming thought that the stickiness is her own blood. The fatigue from blood loss was battled by the rejuvenation potion but she felt the weight of it pressing down on her, the orange and red stains on the bed sheets another reminded of how much blood she lost. She really thought for a moment that it was the end… that she would die beside Ernaldus on the red and golden carpet.

Till death do them part.

She cringed at the morbid thought. She didn’t love him but he didn’t deserve to die. To think her wedding day was nothing but a lever to grant someone else the vengeance and purpose they sought for. Could the wedding have been any more cursed?

“Your hair…”

The mention of her hair made Alys instinctively reach for it, her fingers searching but not finding the long curling locks. She lifted her hand higher behind her head until she felt the softness of the strands, desperately clutching for them as if her hair was a dear friend she thought was lost. So much shorter… and lighter. It was a strange thing to get upset over but she felt the tears prickling behind her eyes when she slowly brushed her trembling fingers through her cut hair, feeling violated. What more did she lose during that wedding? How much of her own identity was there left?

Varessi softly sighed in sympathy as she watched Alys struggle a little, guessing everything was too much for her. Then again, she had gone through horrible things and endured a lot of negativity these past few days; anyone would have cracked after that ordeal, even a little. “I can cut it later if you want,” she offered before she touched the wheat colored hair and tucked aside a few stray strands,” not as short as mine but I can try turn it into a cute bob. I think it will look good on you.”

“You think so…?”

The question was reluctant but ever so slightly hopeful. Varessi’s smile widened before she gently nudged Alys with her shoulder and leaned against her while trying to make eye contact. “What I got to learn about you since we first met, is that you look good in about anything. Long hair or short, you will make it your own, I have no doubts about that.”

Was she saying these things to make her feel better? Alys stopped herself from saying it out loud or ask Varessi about her intentions behind her words, wanting to believe it was more than just little lies to have her cheer up. She pushed her hand into her hair to wrap her fingers around the shorter strands as if it would strengthen her resolve or hasten making peace with it, before she showed a small smile and met the Sram’s gaze. “Thank you.”

The Sram gave her a pleased grin before she suddenly looked alert when the sound of the door handle turning caught her and Bernal’s attention. They turned with a flaring tension to see who would enter until the familiar face of Reyna peeked around the door… and she wasn’t alone. The sight of Joris following behind the female Sram brought forth mixed responses, concerns and relief clashing a little. Nobody said a word when they entered though it was Reyna who broke the silence. 

“Maddock asked for all of us to gather outside the throne room,” she said to Varessi and Bernal while handing Alys a grey dress she was given by one of the servants,” we have new orders.”

“Seems break time’s over,” Varessi confirmed before she stood up from the bed and smiled at Alys,” hope you don’t mind if I seek you out later when things have calmed down a little.”

Alys shook her head, a little befuddled at how friendly and outgoing the Sram was. A new friend, hm? She wouldn’t mind to seeing Varessi as such. Perhaps something good came out of this whole mess after all… a comforting thought. She remained seated on the bed with the dress in her lap when the three Bontarian Srams took their leave to join up with Maddock and Diego, the tension returning once she was alone with the small master.

The atmosphere became awkward as they stared at each other before averting their gazes, the haunting thoughts and dark feelings from earlier flowing back into the Eliatrope’s mind and body as they grew with her insecurities. The urge to fiddle with her hair to soothe some of the tension rose but there wasn’t any hair left to distract herself with so she resolved to digging her fingers into the bed sheets instead, focusing on the softness getting pinned by her nails. 

Joris took in the sight of the room and bed while he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, noticing the red stains on the white fabrics and her hands and how messy the bed was. He made the easy guess this was where the mending took place, a confirmation that the Eliatrope received the help she needed. That she was sitting up on her own strength was a good omen but it didn’t lessen his curiosity to how she was doing and how bad her injuries were. 

He waved away the vivid image of the sword skewering her when it stabbed his mind’s eye like a hot poker before he started to speak to not waver,” how are you?” 

No formalities this time, something she was grateful for. She shifted on the bed to remove the spare dress from her lap and lay it on the dresser before she gave him a conflicting nod and shake of her head. She wasn’t well but she still was in some way. She was hurt, inside and out, tired, upset and angry. She wanted to scream and cry but what good would it do?

Was she in pain? Joris tilted his head before he made the decision to close the distance between himself and the Eliatrope, his approach making her huddle more into her shoulders. Her reaction was concerning but she didn’t retract or ask of him to stay away when he took a seat in front of her and leaned with his elbows on his knees. He quietly inspected her with his eyes alone, taking in the blood stains and the frayed edge of the torn silk peeking out behind her.  

A grimace washed over him when she hung her head and turned all her focus to the ring she wore rather than look at him, the golden piece of jewelry shining as she slowly spun it around her finger. The shackle which bound her to Brakmar… The pinch of annoyance he felt made his anger flare but he hid it well. 

“Theron requested of me to check on you while the council is assembling in the war room to discuss the situation.”

She hesitated. “Why aren’t you--?”

“I will attend the council in due time,” he cut in with a raising of his hand,” your safety and wellbeing are one of Bonta’s primary concerns. You are under Bonta’s protection as one of our allies and--” He didn’t wish to say it but he must. “Because you married the prince. You are the closest Brakmar currently has to a monarch and for all we know, you are being hunted down. The king wants you to remain within the palace until we are certain of your current position and safety.”

Hunted. Fear flickered in her eyes before she closed them and kept the ring still around her finger, the gold feeling warm to the touch. “What is Brakmar’s situation?”

He took a breath when she grabbed hold of her responsibilities before he said less poised and lowered his gaze,” we have yet to receive any reports about the current state of the city but Brakmar was under siege during Ernaldus’ coronation. The White Cloaks started their crusade shortly before he was crowned. We assume they are are still purging the city and that they will move to Bonta next.”

A quiet inaudible whisper made him raise eyes ever so slightly, the way her eyebrows furrowed and she hung her head further not hiding her dismay from him. He let a few seconds creep by before he said silently,” do not feel guilty.”

Her expression twitched when he pierced the invisible veil she tried to uphold, the master hitting the mark with a clear shot. How could she not feel guilty? Her acceptance to Brakmar’s request for her hand in marriage started a domino effect which led to destruction and chaos, a fate Bonta may suffer from as well. Many people died already, all because she allowed the event to happen.

Joris narrowed his eyes as he watched her. He was incredibly relieved that she wasn’t in as much pain as he feared she was but there wasn’t a good moment to tell her this. Other things were far more important. That said… he believed her mental wellbeing was just as important as making her aware of what was happening and might happen. 

“I know you well enough to know you are blaming yourself for what has happened, Alys,” he said as he leaned forward in his chair to look at her from under the rim of his hood, withholding the urge to get even closer to her,” this would have happened even if you had declined Brakmar’s proposal. The White Cloaks of Virtue hold a large number under their banner, the amount a sign this had been planned for a long time. They were waiting for the right moment to strike. If it was not the wedding and coronation, it would have been a different event of similar scale. This is not your fault.”

She was unnaturally quiet and it unnerved him. He would ask her a billion questions if he could, all to see her well again and unburdened by what happened but at this very moment, he knew nothing he would say would help her. This was something she had to come to terms with by herself. 

He gave up on trying to catch her eyes and instead looked down at the golden ring she slowly rotated around her finger, her nails and the tips of her fingers white from how much pressure she put on it. Thought swirled in his head as he watched the reflection in the gold and the faint trembling of her fingers before he said with a soft voice,” give me your hand.”

It wasn’t an order, the tone he spoke with gentle. Alys began to thaw when he held his hands out to her, puzzled by his request. And then she noticed it; he wasn’t wearing his gloves… The realization only added to her reluctance but her racing thoughts and the growing darkness in her mind stopped when she complied and lay her hand in his, pale against his dark skin. 

No word was spoken when Joris held her left hand before he carefully took hold of the golden ring and slowly slipped it off her finger, undoing the shackle Ernaldus bestowed on her when he made her his wife. Her ring finger trembled more the further the ring was removed until it was held between two of Joris’ small fingers, the golden loop suddenly void of meaning and purpose after it no longer adorned her hand. 

He looked at her while holding the accursed ring before he was almost thrown off his chair when she launched forward and grabbed for him with a suddenness which startled him, her arms wrapping tightly around him. She slumped to her knees before him while the ring hit the floor and bounced a few times before it rolled away, the piece of jewelry no longer being in her presence… as it should be. 

Her sobbing was loud as she cried into his pelt the moment she buried her face into the fur, her embrace tight to not let the master get away, not this time. She allowed herself to crumble, to no longer pretend she approved of her marriage or was strong to handle the pressure. It was over and the removal of the ring symbolized it. She was no longer chained to a man she didn’t love, or a future she never wanted. Never again… not for anyone or anything, not even the children she held so dear. 

Just like she allowed herself to give in to letting all she had bottled up out, he allowed her to do the same. He let her cry as he held her, knowing she had gone through much. He let her vent and be relieved, just like he had a sense of relief for her no longer being with that man. His death was unfortunate and uncalled for but it still meant her freedom and another chance for a better future. For her and himself. 

As he held her and her arms around him shifted so she could nuzzle and hold him more tenderly while her crying lessened, he was able to catch a glimpse of her healed injury. Her exposed skin looked pale as it was surrounded by the torn black silk, the dried blood nearly hiding the diagonal pink line which was the mended wound. A scar… One she will carry with her from this day forward. 

The sight alone made him scowl in bitter frustration, the scar a reminder he didn’t manage to save her on time even though he was right there. He watched it happen. He watched that Eniripsa nearly taking her away from him in a worse way than Ernaldus could ever have done. He can’t let that happen again. He won’t.

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Traces, chapter 7.  
> *: BSIS: Bonta Secret Intelligence Service.


	12. Protection

 

The halls were empty, the sound of her footsteps echoed through the long corridors while every beam of sunlight she passed through made the silver and glass of her pin shimmer. Every step she took was filled with determination and stubbornness, her usual grace not overpowered by it. It was difficult to believe she was bleeding on the floor not too long ago, her injury hidden behind two layers of grey and white.

Joris eyed her lower back as he walked behind the Eliatrope, able to envision the fresh scar but unable to see it. The spare gown she was offered by the court was a good replacement for the black and red wedding gown, the dark grey shawl she wore as an improvised veil to hide her precious wings good enough to be dressed decently. The high heels she wore made her slightly taller, something he was quick to notice with how short he was, and clacked sharply against the marble floors to announce her approach to anyone up ahead.

Their moment alone in one of the palace’s guest rooms didn’t last long enough for his taste but it was a moment he appreciated and calmed his worries for her wellbeing. Once she was done with releasing everything she had held back on and vented her frustrations and sadness through tears and holding him, they lingered in each other’s close presence to savor it for a little longer before she got washed, dressed and had a small bite to eat. To see she had held onto the piece of jewelry he gifted to her once upon a time was humbling, the fear she had disposed of it or left it behind in Brakmar no longer creeping in the background of his thoughts. 

That pin was a silent sign of the care she felt towards him and he held dearly onto that sign to let it feed his will in keeping her safe.

Where did she even keep it while wearing that cursed wedding gown? He didn’t see it on her person until after she got dressed in what Bonta offered her and wrapped a shawl she had found around her head to hide her Wakfu wings, the pin seemingly appearing out of nowhere before she used it to keep the shawl in place. Where she had kept it didn’t matter in the end, he knew this, but he was curious all the same. Trying to figure it out without asking was a good distraction from the continuously intrusive reminders of her getting married and injured… and the possibility Bonta was in danger.

Once the tears were wiped away and she collected herself, Alys jumped straight onto what needed to be done. The king and council of Bonta wished to speak with her and the nation she was now presumably queen of needed her attention. Giving into fatigue or mourn the losses wasn’t an option as time ticked away far too fast; she needed to act and be strong.

The council was no longer in full session when she and Joris arrived in the war room, the council members and king spread out throughout the room to deal with their own tasks or discuss or think further about any developments. Almost every council member was present, the only one missing being Sir Knight Savio who had joined his men to aid Brakmar. Theron Sheran Sharm sat by the imposing table and leered at a large map which lay before him until the female Eliatrope stepped inside and made her way straight to the royal Feca. He sat up in his chair while his eyes quickly darted over her to see how she was faring, pleasantly surprised to see her up and walking with poise.

“Lady Pompudius.”

“Alys will suffice, Your Majesty,” Alys gently corrected him after he formally acknowledged her, not wishing to be called by her dead husband’s name, not after the removal of her wedding ring,” I am sorry for what happened in Brakmar and the threat which looms over Bonta.”

Theron inclined his head appreciatively though his thoughtfulness remained strong in his expression while he stroked his bearded chin. “The blame isn’t on you, Milady; you didn’t form the white army. Though, it is a relief you survived their onslaught. What happened is tragic… You and Brakmar have my deepest condolences.”

“Thank you…” She whispered, uncertain if she deserved the condolences but the Dark City certainly did. “Does Bonta know of Brakmar’s current state?”

An inspecting glance was thrown into Bestor’s direction, the Ouginak having turned the war room’s balcony into his station. Several Tofus sat on the balustrade, all of them bearing the mark of Bonta on their forehead while some wore a leather contraption on their backs to deliver any written notes and messages. The canine spymaster seemed heavily occupied with going through any received messages and transcripts which were delivered by Tofu, not noticing the king was looking his way.

“The reports we received from the men we sent to Brakmar and Morblue Hills are few at the moment but there are updates. The raiding of civilian houses has begun and chaos is sweeping through the streets. While Brakmar resists and fights back, there are many casualties and we’ve received reports that an uncountable amount of Shushu-possessed items were apprehended by the White Cloaks and are being transported to unknown locations. Some of Bestor’s men are investigating as we speak.”

“What of Brakmar’s court and forces?”

“The court is in disarray after what happened at the wedding and coronation,” Theron answered to continue with bringing the Eliatrope up to speed,” while the White Cloaks are executing their plan, the councillors, nobles, and generals are bickering among themselves to grab a shred of leadership and keep it after Ernaldus’ demise and your disappearance. That aside, Brakmar’s armed forces are attempting to push back the White Cloaks but we aren’t certain of their progress.”

Alys swallowed and nodded to show she understood what was shared. Simply put, everything was a mess. Without Ernaldus, the throne was empty and there was no leading figure to pull the reins and bring some order to the chaos. He didn’t need to be strategically minded or a seasoned fighter; his stature was enough to have people listen to him and not fight among themselves to gain power. To think even his council had fallen apart after he passed away… It was a disgrace. “I should return to Brakmar and be there for the people,” she said after she thought it over, knowing it was her responsibility as the wife of Brakmar’s deceased king.

Joris clenched his jaws at how sudden Alys’ decision was and how foolish it sounded but luckily someone else said it for him. 

“You will do no such thing,” Theron objected strictly, the look in his eyes harsh before he closed them and sighed, speaking more kindly,” I understand you feel responsible for Brakmar but there is nothing you alone can do to improve the situation. One of the reasons we have taken you into our protection is that we believe you to be the closest to an heir Brakmar’s crown has after marrying Ernaldus, but we don’t know how Brakmar views you or if Brakmar accepts you as a potential candidate. Until we receive some clarity on the matter, we cannot allow you getting near the city. We must prevent the White Cloaks from capturing you and using you as a bargaining chip.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about such.”

The youthful voice stirred some confusion, especially because it sounded far too casual. Alys, Theron and Joris looked to the Ecaflip who was bold enough to cut into the conversation, his black tail curling while he looked oddly amused. Ush folded his pointy ears back when he managed to grab the attention before he walked alongside the long table to bring himself closer, knowing he had everyone’s ear, including that of Bestor and the other councilors who were conversing and planning in other parts of the war room.

Theron leaned back in his chair when Ush approached, the Feca intently watching him before he asked,” can you explain yourself, Lord Galesh?”

“Certainly,” the young feline said as he half-curtsied for the king before he looked at Alys after parking himself next to her, looking a little smug. “I know everyone has been extremely occupied with this whole dilemma to have noticed or thought about it, or maybe it slipped one’s mind, but…” He paused as if for dramatic effect before he asked Alys with a grin hidden in his voice,” the priest who married you and crowned the prince, he is a doctor, isn’t he?”

“Yes…” came her reluctant response,” yes, he is.”

“And since when are doctors certified archbishops?”

The sudden silence which followed Ush’s question only emphasized the realization the listeners were hit with, their worries and stress about the current situation having cloaked the obvious even when the truth was right in front of their noses. If Alys had laid more thought and value in her observation of how young the so-called archbishop sounded during the wedding ceremony, she would have connected the dots sooner, even during the turmoil. But then nobody did.

Alys slowly blinked while she processed the new angle the Ecaflip demigod offered, uncertain if she should believe him as she knew Ush to be mischievous and scheming in nature, but he was correct. Varden was by no means a holy man and certainly not employed by Brakmar. She lightly lay a hand against her chest as her heart pounded at the revelation before she whispered baffled,” I… I was never married.”

“And Ernaldus was never king,” Ush added after Alys spoke quietly, reveling in the gratification of being right,” I am certain you are pleased with that little tidbit of news.” He purred after he shot Alys a mean grin while he teased her, having picked up on her relief even though she tried not to express it. His golden gaze turned to Joris for but a minor second, another sly and bold tease before he lay a paw on the map of Brakmar to shift the focus away from what he might or might not know. “True that this doesn’t change much about the current problem but it is a worry less. Wouldn’t you say, Your Majesty?”

Theron nodded with his eyebrows knitted together into a thoughtful frown, muttering,” it does rid us of a few complications. But the Lady Alys is still an ally of ours as the representative of her people and we cannot speak or decide for Brakmar on the matter of the marriage and coronation. If they believe it was valid, regardless of the identity of the archbishop, then so it is. But yes…” He sighed deeply, sounding tired,” yes, a worry less.” 

A useless mess, that’s what all this was… Bonta got involved in a situation which was nothing to fuss about to begin with and now look at what was happening. His people were massing for a fight with an unknown outcome. But he won’t blame the Eliatrope for it; she and her king were tricked too, just like Brakmar and Bonta were played like fools. The blame lay solely on the White Cloaks of Virtue.  

“Thank you, Lord Galesh,” he said after he rested his gaze on the map to pluck through his thoughts, the Ecaflip nodding before he backed away to continue his conversations with Maester Hersh. Ush was at times a questionable member of the council, even Theron had to admit it, but he was insightful and not afraid to say what is on his mind. His observation about the archbishop, however, did make things a little awkward.

He glanced to the female Eliatrope, the look in her eyes hinting she was distracted by, what he could guess, was life-changing news. He thought he had to treat her as royalty from now on and give her special treatment but that wasn’t the case anymore. Perhaps for the better… It did mean he could lessen the protection around her, albeit a little. She was still the representative of the Eliatropes and the White Cloaks now also had a bone to pick with them.

“Joris.”

The sudden saying of his name caught Joris by surprise but he didn’t linger to wonder about the reason behind it. He quickly stepped forward to join the king by his side before he inclined his head to show he was listening. He was mentally still reeling from the unexpected good news but he’d take his duty as the king’s advisor and confidante seriously rather than think about the Eliatrope.

Theron deeply inhaled and opened his mouth to speak before he was interrupted by a rapid knocking against the war room’s door and a palace guard came rushing in. “Your Majesty,” he said out of breath as he stumbled, apparently having run as fast as he could,” there’s turmoil in the city.”

Bestor looked up from the piece of paper he was holding with a snap of his head before he quickly turned around to look towards the cityscape, his canine eyes searching for what the guard warned the king about. A few plumes of thick smoke could be seen and not all too far from the palace either, the sight making him instinctively sniff the air for signs of fire before he said out loud,” he’s right, Sire! Something’s happening in Bonta.”

Shock swept over the face of the greying Feca wearing the white golden crown before he pushed his chair back and hurried over to the balcony, his limp slowing him down while the cane he leaned on could barely get a good grip on the polished floor. Joris quickly followed after him to offer any support he might need while the other council members and Alys followed suit to see what was happening. A few of the messenger Tofus seated on the balustrade chirped and fluttered away when Theron grabbed for the carved stone and leaned on it, his large eyes scanning the view of the city he loved and ruled.

It was quiet, at least as quiet as it usually was but the trails of dark smoke rising up from the streets in the district around the palace was alarming. It wasn’t smoke rising from chimneys and neither of a bonfire; this was different and knowing what was happening in Brakmar only made the king’s paranoia worse. 

“What is the commotion?” Joris asked the guard after everyone gathered on the balcony though rose a brow when he noticed a familiar face slinking behind the guard. The feline he knew kept himself low to the ground, not out of fear but simply out of habit, his long pointy ears and tail giving him away. His golden bulging eyes were on the small master for a moment before they moved to Ush and turned a little spiteful, the two demigods expressing their dislike for each other with silent but intense glances and flicking tails.

The guard swallowed to wetten his dry throat before he spoke with the same breathless interruptions between his words as before,” riots, Sir. People are fighting in the nearby streets, shops are being raided and we have people trying to enter the palace by force. The front gate is on lockdown.”

A worried murmur went through the small crowd while Theron stared at the city with held back frustration, his hand clenching into a fist he pressed firmly down against the balustrade.

Joris would make the guess that the riots were the reason behind his son, Atcham, being here. He must have noticed something was wrong and came to the palace to seek him out. “The people trying to get onto palace grounds,” he said after he redirected his attention to the guard,” are they wearing white?”

“Y-yes, white and silver.”

“They are here…”

“What about the city gates?”

The guard shook his head after one of the councilors asked about the city gate. “We haven’t heard anything from any other part of the city, Sir.”

“He’s right,” Bestor confirmed as he held up the note he was reading before the news was brought,” this is the most recent report from the guard post by the main gate; all is quiet and peaceful there. And the same goes for the other guard posts in the west, east and north; there are no reports on any suspicious activity. The White Cloaks must only be present and acting around the Royal Promenade and the Royal District's main streets.”

“Another inside job. Or recall potions?”

“Whichever it is, we have to stop these present White Cloaks from spreading any further throughout the city. We need to keep them contained and neutralize their threat. Send our men into the streets and bolster the defenses around the palace. Our primary concern is the protection of our people and apprehending the fanatics,” Theron ordered after he regained his posture and calm, his regalness returning to him after he straightened up and leaned on his cane while facing his council and guests. “Bestor, try and find out if the leaders of the White Cloaks are still present in Brakmar or if they have moved locations. The rest of you, do what you can to aid Bonta; we need to keep our people safe.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Everyone bowed or saluted the king before they scattered to find a way to deal with the invaders though not everyone was able or allowed to leave just yet.

“Joris, a word.”

The master, his son and the female Eliatrope paused in following everyone outside when the king wished to speak to Joris alone, the exchange of uncertain and thoughtful glances swift between the trio before Joris joined Theron on the balcony. Alys remained with Atcham while they curiously eyed the two silhouettes against the view of Bonta and the clear blue sky, hearing them converse but unable to make out the words.

The moment of calm was one Alys took advantage of to set her thoughts in order, though her worries for the current ongoings made it difficult to focus. To think she was never bound to Ernaldus… at least not in logic’s eyes. She hoped that Brakmar would see it the same way and not push for her to keep holding up the responsibilities she would have if she truly married the prince. But what of the allegiance between Brakmar and the Eliatropes? Was all that for naught too, perhaps declared void? All that remained to be seen. Brakmar and Bonta’s safety came first. Still…

Goddess, not being a real widow and queen felt incredibly good.

She touched her back during the few seconds of glee she allowed herself to have and softly caressed the sore spot on her lower back, the source of the fatigue and aching which were kept at bay by the elixir the court healer made her drink. The rejuvenation potion made her feel heavy and fuzzy but she was glad she could walk and talk without being tired or in constant pain.

Her hand dropped when Atcham seemed intrigued by what she was doing behind her back as he didn’t have much else to do other than try and read lips, the look of suspicion he gave her making her cheeks deepen in color. The unease only multiplied when he leaned a little closer and squinted his eyes until they were almost closed, his intense and inquisitive stare making her slowly lean away from him while averting her gaze. 

“Been a while, Princess,” he said with his usual lisp.

“It’s good to see you again, Atcham,” she said with a few small rapid nods, the smile she gave him weak and nervous before her eyes were back on the master and king.

“There’s something different about you,” he muttered with a questioning tone as he scratched his neck,” did you get a haircut?”

She sucked in her lips and bit on them while she gave him a slow and overdone nod before she said a little awkwardly with obvious discomfort,” something like that, yes…”

He hummed with an underlying grumble as he continued to wonder what exactly was going through Alys’ head as he remained unaware of all that happened beforehand before he perked up in his crouching when Joris came their way, his conversation with the king over. Atcham’s inquisitive attitude melted to make way for intrigue, his long ears turning to the approaching master,” what’s happening, Papa?”

“I will tell you as we walk. Come with me, the both of you,” Joris beckoned as he left the war room, the king not following. The Eliatrope and Ecaflip were close behind him as he made his way through corridors and side rooms, not stopping or slowing down. “Atcham, Brakmar is under siege and Bonta is next.”

“Under siege?” Atcham asked baffled, keeping his voice low when a group of armed guards rushed past to make their way to the front gate of the palace,” by whom?”

Joris glanced back over a shoulder as he tried to pick the correct answer before he turned a corner,” fans of Menalt. They call themselves the White Cloaks of Virtue and oppose the presence of Shushus in this world. Even those imprisoned. They are murderers, as simple as that; nothing more needs to be said.”

“And we’re going to crack their skulls?”

The small master frowned before he shook his head, the hallways he led them through abandoned and quiet. “No,” he said as he walked into a dead end and ran his hand along the wall while walking on his toes to reach for something Alys and Atcham didn’t notice at first. A portion of the wall moved when he applied pressure against a hidden panel and revealed a secret passage, a gush of fresh air sweeping through. “Not yet, at least,” he added as he entered the dark narrow hallway, soon disappearing in the shadows.

Alys and Atcham looked at each other in wonder before Alys was the first to venture after Joris, every step taken filled with caution before the hidden door slid back into place and locked them in. It was dark at first for the Eliatrope, almost pitch black until her eyes adjusted and she could see the small form of Joris against a faint distant light. Atcham had no issue with seeing in the dark, walking crouched behind the Eliatrope while they continued to follow Joris through the long but narrow passageway.

It wasn’t long before the darkness was chased away by daylight. Joris pulled a lever he could barely reach when they ended up by what seemed like the end of the passageway, a crack appearing in the wall before it grew wider with the sound of grinding stone. The outside world revealed itself little by little until the exit was completely open.

“Theron ordered me to bring Alys somewhere safe, away from the palace,” Joris explained when he stepped over the threshold and into the daylight, his words making Alys hesitate in following him. Atcham peeked out from behind her with a risen brow, not moving either as the Eliatrope was in his way. “But… I cannot leave him while the palace is under attack and on the verge of being invaded. My place is at his side. Therefore, Atcham,” he said as he turned around to see his son and the woman he cared far too deeply about,” you will take her to the bazaar in my stead.” He noticed the widening of Alys’ eyes and the look on her face, a look of disapproval and concern. “You’ll be safe there,” he said to her to try and reassure her but the shaking of her head showed it wasn’t enough.

He was making her leave? No… No, she didn’t want to leave, not after what happened. Not with what was happening at this exact moment. The shaking of her head grew stronger. “No, please, let me stay. I can help. I--”

Joris’ scowl was visible to her and cut her off, but it wasn’t a scowl of annoyance, discipline or frustration but of hurt as he knew what needed to be said and done. “Give us a moment, Atcham,” he asked the feline as he closed the distance between himself and the Eliatrope, the Ecaflip soon squirming past them to wander further onto the cliffside of the palace. Joris had led them to the back of the large cylinder building, away from prying eyes and bloodthirsty assailants dressed in white.

Alys lingered in the opening of the hidden passageway, swaying a little as she stopped herself from taking an unsteady step back to not let Joris send her away.

“There is nothing you can do here,” Joris said with a lowered voice once he deemed himself close enough to her, his hand gesturing to her left side,” you were hurt not too long ago, Alys… You need to be somewhere safe. I can better protect you this way.”

“Protect me…?” she asked with a tremble in her voice before she shook her head once more,” no.”  Her head filled with images of Ernaldus’ death, the husk of a demon once known as Malaphar, the fanged grin of Qilby the traitor and the flying and rolling body of the master of Bonta. The screams of terror and the burning sensation of pain accompanied the mental imagery which began to overlap, her paranoia flaring with rapid breaths. She dropped to her knees as she grabbed for Joris’ shoulders, the sudden movement, her desperation and the haunted look in her eyes throwing him off guard. “No, no. I don’t want you to protect me.”

Confusion swept over him and silenced him as he stared dumbfounded at Alys, uncertain what to say in response to that.

She ground her teeth as her expression twitched and turned into a troubled grimace, her spirit getting overwhelmed by all the awful memories she had to live with. “These White Cloaks, they mean business and are willing to kill. I can’t… I can’t let anything happen to you, not after what they did to Ernaldus, Brakmar and me. It’s too risky, too dangerous. Remember the trial in Sadida?*” she asked, the welling of her tears making his stomach clench together while the memories she brought forth with her question made them both uneasy,” you tried to protect me then and you--” She shuddered as she was unable to finish her sentence, the grip on his shoulders tightening. 

He watched her with big eyes and a held breath, his throat feeling dry. The trial… He had never forgotten about it, that time he jumped into the fray to save her. It didn’t end well.

“I thought you were dead, Joris. I thought Qilby had killed you… That I lost you. I don’t want to see you hurt at my expense, not ever again. I-I can’t live with myself if that were to happen, not after…”

“I will not get hurt.”

She flinched at the pang of dismay she felt upon hearing him. Her grip on his shoulders shifted to the front of his coat and fur mantle, the tug she gave him firm and shaky. “But you _were_ hurt then, Joris! You may not have died but you were badly injured that day. It worried your sons. It worried me… The guilt for having caused you harm almost tore me asunder.” She looked at him through the haze of tears before she dropped her head and sniffled, her hold on him lessening. “You can’t promise me you won’t get hurt, Joris; it is impossible to keep such a promise. Why can’t we fight together, or have me protect you? Why you alone?”

“Alys…”

“Why?”

She was right… He already broke his promise for he was hurt. Hurt by her pleading. Hurt by what was right and wrong. Hurt by seeing her this way. Hurt by the responsibility he had to the crown of Bonta. 

He agreed with Theron; Alys isn’t safe in the palace, not if it is the prime target of the White Cloaks. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her or was opposed to fighting alongside her; no, it would be glorious if it were possible. But she was nearly killed, suffered blood loss and was running on fumes thanks to a rejuvenation elixir and all this within the span of a few hours. To abide her wish to let her stay by him would only lead to disaster and he couldn’t afford the distraction, not while Bonta needed him.

Atcham looked in between the two from his spot by a few rocks, not fully sure about what the deal was but he had plenty of guesses. He groaned from deep down his throat and rolled with his eyes as he made a decision before he said as he leaped closer to the two ambassadors,” right, you two can discuss this after all is said and done.” His grumbling and approach shifted the tension between Joris and Alys until it completely tilted when Atcham hooked an arm around Alys’ legs and scooped her up, the Eliatrope soon dropped over his shoulder.

“What? No!” she loudly protested with a kicking of her legs,” put me down, Atcham!” 

Joris looked absolutely flabbergasted by what just happened though managed to get a hold of himself when Atcham looked at him past the squirming Eliatrope and said,” I’ll be with you and the king shortly, Papa.” 

He swallowed before he closed his eyes and nodded, knowing he had no choice. Alys may not agree but this was for the best… even if this approach was a little unorthodox and barbaric.

“Joris, please!” Alys called out to him when the spindly Ecaflip turned around and began to run down the rocky cliffside, his feline grace and long tail helping him with keeping his balance and jump from rock to rock with easy while Alys struggled in his grip. His claws held tightly onto her as he made the daring leap down to a rooftop further below before sliding down it to another, the distance between them and Joris growing far too quickly. “ _Joris_!”

She couldn’t see him anymore, the descent too fast. Goddess, why was this happening? What if she won’t ever see him again? That thought alone angered her. She glared at the back of Atcham’s head through the curtain of tears, her kicking and pulling at his shirt having no effect on him. 

“Put me down, Atcham!”

No response. 

She bared her teeth before she rose a hand and tore open a portal right underneath the Ecaflip after he made the jump between two rooftops, unable to dodge it mid-leap. “Put. Me. Down!” she screamed before they disappeared into the Zaap, soon reappearing further down in a dark and deserted alleyway. 

They hit the ground fairly hard and rolled while knocking a few crates and barrels over until they came to a stop. Alys shook her head to get a hold of her senses as she lay not too far from Atcham and tried to scramble up to her feet, but a sharp stab of pain stopped her from moving. She loudly winced and reached for her healed injury with the fright the rough tumble had opened the wound, though luckily it was still intact. 

The sickening sounds of Atcham coughing and throwing up filled the alleyway after the portal travel wasn’t kind to his stomach, his voice guttural in tone,” what in the litter was that?!” He sounded offended and angry, the way he grabbed for Alys’ ankles proving he wasn’t in a good mood. He clawed his way up her legs as they remained on the ground, the Eliatrope struggling to get up while he refused to let her get away.

“ _Let go of me_!”

“Not until you calm down, you crazy banshee,” he growled,” a fight is breaking out in this city, Princess; this isn’t the time to bicker about who gets to fight and protect and who doesn’t! Both Joris and the king want you safe so I’ll make certain that you are!”

The struggle continued as one tried to break free while the other tried to hold on, soon on their knees before they stood and stumbled while pulling and tugging at each other. 

“Why won’t any of you trust in what I can do? I can help!”

“Because we have seen you hurt, moron! We watched you bleed dry while you struggled to stay alive.* Have you forgotten that already? You aren’t like us, Princess, you don’t have experience in the battlefield and you aren’t immortal like a God. You can’t keep relying on luck every time you find yourself in some deadly mess. It runs out and when it does, you’ll cause more grief and leave behind those who need you.”

Her eyes flashed cyan with the glare she gave him, far too upset and irrational to calm herself down. Her struggle to get free from his grasp paused for but a second before her fist went flying and struck Atcham right in his snout, the unexpected punch and surprise incapacitating him.

“Don’t give me this, Atcham! Don’t you dare!” she screamed angrily as she grabbed him by the front of his shirt while tears streamed down her cheeks, her knuckles aching but she didn’t notice it. “He isn’t immune either! I have seen it with my own eyes; Joris can die too, just like any of the Twelve can! I want to prevent that from ever happening! I want to keep him--to keep all of you safe! Why won’t you let me?!”

Atcham ran the back of his claw along his snout and nose to check if he was bleeding, frustration swirling inside of him like wildfire while he was being screamed at. She had some nerve. It wasn’t a strong punch but it was still a good hit.  She’s lucky his father has taken a shine to her or else he would have given her a far shorter haircut by now. Still… He hated it but she obviously had gone through a lot to have reached this point; this wasn’t like her. 

He checked the back of his claw once more to see if he really wasn’t bleeding before he grabbed for her hands and pulled his shirt free from her trembling fingers. The look of resentment and disapproval he gave her weakened her enough for her feistiness to waver, knowing she was listening rather than getting lost and blinded in her anger. Perhaps she was already regretting what she did. 

“You want to know why?” he asked gruffly,” for the same reasons you don’t wish for him to protect you. Think about it, Princess. We all want each other to be safe and unharmed and that is why we push each other away, why we bicker while we should be focusing on what is truly important. It isn’t that we… _he_ doesn’t believe in you. We know you are strong spirited as you have proven time and time again but we worry about your wellbeing and it is distracting. And distraction kills during fights like these; that is the hard truth.”

Alys pressed her lips together as she clung to his every word, her chin quivering. She knew he was right and she understood what he was trying to say but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone she held dear without trying to prevent it. She was always the one who needed saving, the damsel in distress. Others got hurt in her stead. Joris, Adamaï, Phaeris, Fernand, Soren… Those were but a few names of people who get hurt because of her.

When she clasped a hand over her face and hid her eyes to futility stop herself from crying, Atcham sighed through his nose with a lowering of his shoulders, the sour taste of throwing up lingering in his mouth.

“These White Cloaks already sacked Brakmar,” he continued,” once they advance through the streets of Bonta, there will be no mercy towards anyone who will try and stand up against them. Joris needs to do this and he can without a doubt once he knows you’re safe. Don’t you try and play me for a fool, or yourself for that matter; you know he cares about you. He has already gone to great lengths for you and your people, so grant him this request. Let him fight for a future and protect you by sending you to the safest place he knows.”

She wiped her eyes with a heavy swallow before she looked at him, any hint of anger gone. She sniffled before she carefully reached for his face though retracted her hand when Atcham tilted his head away from her, not wanting her to touch where she landed her punch. She uttered a quiet apology after taking the hint before she asked with a hoarse voice,” to the bazaar then?”

“With the struggle you put up? I think you are very capable of heading to Kerubim on your own rather than have me carry you there. No?” Atcham asked, a small grin shimmering through his grouchy expression,” hurry the best you can; who knows for much longer the streets around here are safe. I will join Joris and make certain he won’t play hero.”

“Don’t let him do anything rash…”

Atcham smirked with a jerking of his shoulders. “You have my word, Princess. Though usually, I am the rash one.”  His grin grew as he took a sweeping step back to indicate he’s about to leave, his escort to the bazaar no longer required as they apparently managed to talk things out, somehow. And with a fist too. “You and Luis keep Kerubim safe; he’s the only true brother I have.”

She nodded before she started to slowly walk backward towards the exit of the alleyway, looking worried and uncertain but she wasn’t clinging onto him or telling him to stay with her. She trusted Atcham to look after his father and knew he would do a better job at it than her.

As soon as she was gone and the sound of her footsteps ebbed away, Atcham rushed back to the palace. He’ll have to lay faith in the fact she’ll reach the bazaar without any problems, or that she won’t change her mind and join the fight. She better not, not after he endured that punch and screaming of hers. The things he does and tolerates for his dad… Who knows, perhaps someday she’ll be his and Kerubim’s “mother”. Wouldn’t that be a weird surprise.

The sounds of combat and fighting came closer, the smell of burning wood filling his nostrils as he dove through streets and back alleys to make his way back to the palace. Up ahead on the road leading to the palace’s gate… People dressed in white. His eyes narrowed and his ears folded back before he drew his swords from his back and picked up his speed, sprinting towards the White Cloaks before he lashed out at them to make them falter in their charge towards the gate.

He carried on without looking back while he kept his swords drawn, soon enough diving past and dodging a few Bontarian guards who were locked in combat with a few of the White Cloaks before Atcham scaled the gate. It was a bit of a struggle to get up on the wall surrounding the palace but he’d blame his old bones for that. 

A guard who recognized him was quick to help him and pull him up onto the wall he was protecting with a crossbow, the Ecaflip soon enough on the move again once his feet touched the stone.

“Atch!”

The calling of his name made him skid to a halt before he peered down into the courtyard, finding Joris there with his mallet slung over a shoulder.

“Where is the Lady Alys?” 

“Being a big girl like she wanted to be,” the feline said before he jumped down to approach the small master,” I let her go on her own.”

Joris frowned at the news before his expression hardened, not certain what to think of it. No matter his size, he was an intimidating force if need to be and this time was no different, his son already feeling his disapproval creeping up on him. It would have frightened him if he didn’t know Joris any better.

The harsh looked Joris gave him was picked up on before Atcham said with a dismissive wave of a claw,” she’ll be fine. She can fend for herself.” He rubbed and moved his jaw, the joint popping as he slowly chewed on air and mumbled,” she can deliver a good punch, I’ll give her that.”

“She hit you…?” Joris sounded baffled when he realized what Atcham was talking about, not really believing him at first but his dark hairless skin did appear to be a little red from irritation. Did she hit him in his snout?

“It was her way of showing she cares,” the Ecaflip smirked before he straightened up and looked towards the closed gate, his attitude growing more serious,” she’ll be holding down the fort at home with Luis and Kerubim.”

The master pushed his shoulders back and nodded, soon placing his weapon onto the ground to prepare himself for what may come. “Hopefully the White Cloaks will solely focus on the palace to overthrow the throne or occupy it,” he said after he rested his intense gaze on the gate,” but it would be foolish to think that they won’t raid any stores which potentially sell Shushu items and Luis is the biggest Shushu selling Shushu store of all.” 

Atcham had to agree but they’ll have to roll with the punches and trust that Kerubim, Alys and Luis can fight off any trouble if it comes their way. For now, their biggest concern was the assault on the palace and the duty to protect Bonta and its king, the White Cloaks advancing and letting up in the slightest.

**To be continued.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *: See Traces, chapter 7.  
> *: See Blank Canvas, chapter 22.  
> *: See Traces, chapter 48.


	13. Fun and Games

 

The sounds of swords clashing and magic bursting didn’t reach as far as where two men were watching but they could envision it, having a good view of the assault on the Bontarian palace. The guards and soldiers clad in blue and silver were holding themselves well against their opponents clad in white and silver, the invaders not yet having breached the palace’s defenses. The gate remained closed and the walls untouched but well protected, keeping the present king and his loyal servants in the courtyard safe.

“Are you seeing this?” the one-winged Eniripsa asked the Masqueraider standing beside him,” like a hive of bees, they rush towards the protection of their monarch and lose sight of anything else, eager to sting the intruders with all they have. While they fortify the palace with their most capable men, the rest of the city’s defenses weaken.”

Gard stood silent as he watched what was happening in the distance, his arrival to the city of Bonta recent. As soon as good progress in Brakmar was made after the dying bride of Brakmar and the Master Jurgen with his Bontarian entourage fled Rushu’s temple, the leader of the White Cloaks of Virtue and his faithful brother changed locations to continue the onslaught elsewhere. But although Varden was confident in the success of his plan, Gard was not as certain.

“I hope you aren’t underestimating what Bonta is capable of, Varden.”

The Eniripsa frowned at Gard’s words of caution, finally breaking his stare to turn his gaze towards his brother rather than marvel at the sight of the Bontarian palace being under siege. “You cut me, brother... I didn’t think you would doubt me, of all people. We caught Bonta by surprise and still have enough surprises up our sleeves to keep the upper hand.”

True but there were a few things Gard was aware of and he wondered if Varden was too. “Speaking of having the upper hand,” he said from behind his mask,” we are losing control over Brakmar.”

“I am aware but we got we wanted from that city and left a mark no one will forget. The purge can continue behind the scenes once the chaos settles. It will be slower but still efficient.” He slowly nodded with a pleased smile, already able to imagine the future he set out to grab with both his hands,” there will be no demon left once we are done.”

If only it was that simple. “Perhaps,” Gard mused, the tone he spoke with not fully tolerated by his older brother,” we lost a lot of men.”

“As has Brakmar, and soon Bonta,” Varden spoke with a hint of agitation though he calmed quickly, at least enough to not snap at Gard,” every life lost was worth the price, still is. I am starting to feel like you are questioning my methods, brother. We are close to a victory, even you can see it.”

“We were close to one before you turned half of our forces towards Bonta. With the escape of Master Jurgen, Bonta was able to expect us and prepare. We also do not have as many insiders here as we did in Brakmar; our web doesn’t reach this far. To assault this city was a foolish decision.”

Varden held his tongue as he thought Gard’s words over. It took years to get to this point, years of persuading all sorts of folk to join their cause, to arm and train them and to place pawns and spies at every possible corner in Brakmar, the hot spot of demonic activity. He even reached out to questionable but powerful folk to gain support and aid, folk he still didn’t fully trust but they had resources beneficial to the White Cloaks’ grand scheme. And throughout all these years of planning and bargaining, Gard was with him every step of the way. It wasn’t until recently he started to ask questions, questions of which the answers clashed with what Varden envisioned. And this day… he was the most uncertain. 

If one of their men hadn’t been so dumb to harm and perhaps kill the Eliatrope and enrage the Bontarian master, things wouldn’t have gotten this much out of hand. The death of that insolent fool wasn’t satisfying and neither did it change anything but it was a proper punishment for ruining the White Cloaks’ plan.

“You knew Bonta was going to get involved in our crusade, one way or another. We had to retaliate before they could to keep the upper hand.”

Gard flexed one of his hands, the shaking of his head betraying his nerves as his mask continued to hide his overall mood. “No, _we_ didn’t know and neither did our allies,” he corrected the Eniripsa,” we didn’t plan it. It was Brakmar’s idea to drive Bonta into a corner with the Eliatropes, not ours. Our crusade’s prime target was Brakmar and Brakmar alone, always was. I didn't dance to Brakmar’s every tune these past few years just to see it all wasted.”

“I know you tried to change the council’s mind on involving Bonta but even if Brakmar decided against the inclusion of Bonta in the negotiations between them and the Eliatropes, it was still to be expected Bonta would rise up against us. They wouldn’t sit by idly, no matter their history with Brakmar. Besides… I don’t think our allies and investors will be happy to know that we messed up and didn’t try and fix it.”

“Maybe they would have preferred it with how much they stick to the shadows.”

Varden shook his head. “Don’t think ill of them, brother, neither speak it. They have been most helpful and are behind our vision for the future. They gain much from our victory.”

Or maybe our loss, Gard thought but he wisely kept it to himself as he averted his gaze from Varden to look at the assault on the palace, no longer in the mood to discuss it further. Any regret or doubt was too late; there was no going back, not anymore.

A silence fell between the brothers, each busy with their own thoughts and observances until a faint crackling tugged at their attention. The air behind them felt electric like an incoming storm and vibrated ominously until a tear appeared and grew larger, the glowing anomaly basking the trees and bushes on the hill in a pale light. Shadows appeared amidst the glow before someone bolted forward with spread arms, a skip and a twirl, a broad smile on her face.

“ _I’m back_!” 

Disgruntled sighs could be heard from the two brothers when Royale leaped out of the portal and skipped towards them, seeming to be in an incredibly good mood. 

“Aww, did we interrupt some brotherly love?” she asked after she wrapped her arms around the men and poked her head out between them, only getting a scowl from Varden as an answer. “No then? Good!” she laughed as she let go and returned to the large portal with swaying arms and hips, the skip in her step staying.

Varden sighed when Royale released him and brushed off his arm with a flick of his fingers before he said quietly to Gard,” remind me again why in the Twelve you spared her…”

“Because she is useful.”

And crazy. Very crazy. But Varden couldn’t argue with Gard about it because he was right; the Sacrier had proven herself to be quite useful to the cause ever since Gard spared her life in Sadida and convinced her to join him. She was a bit of a loose cannon but she got every task given done well enough to not be a complete nuisance.

“As requested,” Royale spoke up after she spread an arm and hand to present the portal and the people dressed in white which came through it and began gathering on the hill,” I brought along a few of our friends to help pick this messed up city clean. Yay.” She shook her hands to sarcastically celebrate before someone much larger than her interrupted her.

“Don’t take all the credit, Sacrier.”

Royale spun around to look at the large Pandawa before she snickered loudly and give his round belly a playful shove, appearing to be overly amused. “Me taking credit? Never. I only gathered all these people and got them here with your little doohickies and friend, without you assisting me at all.”

“ _Royale_.”

The warning voice of Varden made the Sacrier bounce up before she feigned being offended and pointed with her whole arm at the Pandawa while leaning her whole body towards Varden. “I am only telling the truth, which I keep getting told is the right thing to do. Besides, come on. His name is _Poo_. I mean,” Royale snortled with a laugh,” I think that says a whole lot about him!”

“Stop being childish,” Varden bit agitated before he collected himself and turned to face the Pandawa,” my apologies, Master Poo--” A sharp cry of laughter from Royale almost cut off the Eniripsa after he addressed the Pandawa. “We are working on her manners…”

“It is… fine,” Poo said with a forced smile, his eyes closed as he speaks,” I won’t be around for much longer anyway. And neither is she.”

He glanced back over a shoulder into the white, cyan and lime colored vortex swirling behind him, seeming to wait for something before someone bound was dragged through the fluctuating Zaap and tossed onto their knees beside the Pandawa, their hood shrouding their identity. There was something odd about them, even after the portal closed once everyone passed through; they faintly glowed and their whole appearance fluctuated as if they were partially phasing in and out of existence. Their bindings weren’t ropes or shackles but a halo of cyan which rapidly spun around their waist and pinned arms, limiting the use of their arms.

“Unless you need more of your men transported to here.”

Gard stepped up closer to Varden as both looked at what appeared to be an Eliatrope, neither saying a word before Varden rose a hand and shook his head,” we have enough, thank you. The others can join us with recall potions and arrows, or your magnificent balls. What did you call them again?”

“Silo,” Poo answered before he snatched one of the two runed orbs Royale was thoughtlessly playing with, the other floating away from her to join its round counterpart. The orbs hovered above the Pandawa’s upturned paw in a slow circle after they were reunited while Royale pouted before she crouched down beside the ghost-like Eliatrope and grinned widely at her.

“The Silos will do, if needed. Besides, I don’t think she will last for much longer if we have her open more portals,” Varden said after he refocused on the strange looking Eliatrope, almost able to see through her. He rose a brow when her fluctuating increased as she slowly rose her head to look at him from under the edge of her hood, an exhausted but spiteful look present in her eyes.

Poo rubbed the back of his thick but fluffy neck as he pulled his shoulders up, saying a little uncertain,” I was told it is her purpose. I don’t know the details but her death won’t be a waste. Nobody will think twice about it.” He let out a dry laugh, not certain if it was supposed to be funny but he simply follows orders and repeated what he was told before he was sent to Brakmar to help these White Cloaks out. “I’ll admit Eliotropes are a bit of an enigma.”

“And like ghosts,” Royale grinned as she poked the Eliotrope, each poke making the prisoner fluctuate more with mint colored ripples originating from the poked area. “I am enjoying this. I wonder if Blondie gets like this too if I beat her hard enough.”

“If she still lives.”

“Oh, she lives, trust me. She’s like a cockroach. No matter how many times you and I hurt her, she still manages to walk about like the pretty little princess she thinks she is. Fuck, I hate her…” Royale mumbled as she thought about Alys, still bitter about what happened between them. And not to mention jealous, though the Sacrier won’t ever admit to it. “But short little ghost here… I like her! I like you,” she grinned manically as she looked at the Eliotrope,” you’re like a Sacrier with those blue markings you got going on, and, you are feisty when you aren’t tired. You can’t fool me, I saw that spark earlier when you went wild to try and escape before Mister _Poo_ py Head here set you straight.”

Poo’s small ears perched up while he listened to Royale talking to the female Eliotrope before he bent down and brought his hand and the two Silos closer to her, the two orbs acting like magnets which were instantly drawn to her wrists. “Before I forget,” he added before his voice was drowned out by the pained grunt the short-haired Eliotrope released when her wrists were forced together and the orbs spun fast around them, binding them with the same cyan halo which kept her arms pinned to her waist. “Now she won’t go anywhere quick.”

The wincing continued as the power the spinning Silos emitted seared into her pale skin, her damaged gloves indicating she was bound like this before.

“Good,” Varden said coldly as he watched the Eliotrope writhe in pain and anger before he turned his attention to the intrigued looking Royale. “Was there any further resistance in Brakmar?”

Royale snapped out of her intense staring and quiet enjoyment of the suffering going on right beside her before she jumped up to her feet and stretched. “Nawh, there hardly was any trouble after you two toddled off to here,” she said with a shrug,” aside from your sister-in-law, or something. Lecreft, whatever. She disappeared.” 

Gard could be heard cursing from under his breath and mask, an action of annoyance which echoed Varden’s thoughts and the vexed expression which washed over his face upon hearing the news.

“Tragic, I know.” Her sarcasm wasn’t appreciated but Royale didn’t care much, having her own little fun. She didn’t share the brothers’ worry about Timinne having disappeared to who knew where, not having any reason for it. “So,” she asked after folding her hands behind her back and showing her teeth with a broad grin, her whole focus pinned on the one-winged Eniripsa,” who do I get to beat up next?”

\--------------------~*~--------------------

A quick knocking filled the shop, a knocking which stirred several beings from their naps. Kerubim groggily yawned and stretched in his large comfy chair, his movements waking the elderly flea wedged between his side and the armrest. Pupuce looked at him with the same sleep-drunken look Kerubim had before she snuggled away in the cushion she had turned into her bed, not interested in the noise which continued to sound through the building.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Kerubim mumbled as he slipped out of the chair and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still half asleep. “Luis. Luis, wake up.” He wandered downstairs while searching for the Shushu, not receiving a response back. Was he asleep or was he stubbornly pretending to be so he didn’t need to do his job? Probably the latter. “Luis, come on. Someone’s at the door.”

A grumbled groan sounded through the hallway but that was all Kerubim got from the Shushu, all present eyes in the walls and doors staying closed.  

Taking the hint, Kerubim let out a long sigh before the tone of it became more annoyed as the knocking continued, the rhythm of it urgent and demanding. “Hold your dragoturkeys, I’m coming,” he said with another yawn as he climbed down the stairs, taking one step at a time to not accidentally have his still sleeping brain make him trip,” we’re closed, you know.”

He eyed the windows when he was almost at the bottom of the stairs, the drawn curtains blocking the view of the front of the shop and the street. Although he couldn’t see it, someone was definitely there as the knocking sounded once more until a silence followed which lasted longer than before.

Kerubim slowed in his descent when the knocking stopped and no longer repeated, guessing that whoever was there had left even though he didn’t see any shadow pass the windows. No bother, he thought to himself, the bazaar was closed anyway and nobody was expected to come by this day. Whoever it was, they’ll be back later or tomorrow if it was important, he was sure of it. Back upstairs he would go to continue his catnap.

The old feline was halfway through turning around when a strange but quiet sound made his small ears twitch and he could see his own shadow against the stairway wall, a shadow which wasn’t there before. He looked at it in confusion before he peered back over a shoulder, his large eyes reflecting the glow of a circular anomaly present in the middle of his shop. The sight of it made him jump back and push himself against the wall in startle until a tall figure slumped out of the portal and ended up hunched on the floor.

Black shoes with golden high heels clattered onto the wooden floor planks when the woman he didn’t instantly recognize lost her grip on them and she caught herself from slumping any further, her breathing heavy. The portal, as small as it was, closed behind her as she hung her head and leaned on her hands, unaware she wasn’t alone.

“Rude.”

The sudden voice of Luis lessened Kerubim’s tension, the large eye overlooking the shop leering at the Eliatrope who had come in unannounced and uninvited. Her whispered apology cleared up the Shushu’s glare ever so slightly though it grew harsher when Kerubim spoke up.

“Don’t you “rude” her when you were rude yourself. You could have opened the door for her rather than pretend you were asleep,” the Ecaflip lectured after he made his way over to Alys and carefully lay a paw on her shoulder, uncertain if she was alright. Why was she here? She wouldn’t let herself in if it wasn’t important or urgent, he knew this and so he didn’t ask her about her reasons. Instead, he asked,” what happened, my dear? You look exhausted.”

Alys rose her gaze to look at Kerubim, her fingers reaching for the shoes she had taken off to clutch them to her chest as if they were precious to her, even though they absolutely weren’t. “The palace,” she said in a short breath, having run barefooted for a long while,” the city. Joris, he--he and Atcham sent me here.”

She wasn’t making much sense. Then again, the bewildered look in her eyes made it clear that she was distraught, her paleness hinting she was either sick or fatigued. Kerubim pulled a thoughtful face before he nodded and gave her shoulder a soft pat, knowing he wouldn’t get much out of her if she stayed on the floor. “Tell me everything while we get you upstairs,” he suggested as he helped her back onto her feet, the Eliatrope obliging.

She told him what happened as they slowly made their ways up the stairs and into the lounge. She spoke little of the betrothal and union between the Eliatropes and Brakmar though didn’t summarize the assassination during Ernaldus’ coronation, the retelling chilling the old Ecaflip to the bone. She explained what happened at the Bontarian palace when Kerubim brought her a warm drink to calm her nerves, learning about why Joris sent her away and to the bazaar. 

“This is troubling,” he mumbled once the Eliatrope concluded her story and had informed Kerubim about what was currently happening in the city. He stroked his furry chin while Alys blew the hot beverage to cool it down before she took a careful sip, her eyes almost closed as she was too tired and sore with the rejuvenation elixir having worn off. He took in the dark circles under her eyes and her paleness before he glanced towards Luis, the Shushu having listened in. “You think they’ll come for you?”

“I would like to see them try.”

And try they might… Kerubim shuddered at the thought but he tried to remain positive. “If they solely attacked the palace, they might not have a far enough reach or resources to do like they did in Brakmar. You should be safe here,” he said reassuringly to the Eliatrope, catching her dozing off,” and you should be in the clear as well.” He gave Luis a sideways glance but neither believed what was said. 

A mortal crusade against Shushus. Imprisoned Shushus for that matter… How come nobody ever saw it coming after the Crimson Dawns came to an end? It was no worldwide secret that many people didn’t think too fondly about Shushus, their history on the World of Twelve not the most inspiring or heartwarming. Even with their usefulness, very few loved or liked the Shushu they kept in their household or weaponry. But to think someone decided to actually be rid of the subdued Shushus… This is unlike what the Justice Knights and the guardians of the Order of the Shushus do; they imprison the demons and keep them under their thumb to prevent them from doing harm. But these White Cloaks, these followers of Menalt… They are out to destroy each and every one of them, somehow.

“Ay, ay, ay, ay,” Kerubim mumbled as he massaged his forehead, not liking this one bit. To think the palace was under siege and Joris and Atcham were in the middle of it… He guessed an alarm would be rung sooner than later though it was strange it hadn’t already happened. Maybe because the all activity was around the palace and not elsewhere? Who knew… Maybe it was quiet to keep the panic down.

It was strange to no longer be up to date with news surrounding the royal court. Ever since he adopted Joris in a previous life, his connections to the Bontarian royal family had diminished. Now he was nothing but an elderly son of the king’s advisor and Bonta’s ambassador, an old decrepit Ecaflip thought to have no fight and skill left in him. Heh, if only they knew.

Still, he hoped his father and brother would be alright. Maybe he should join them?

He rose a brow when the Eliatrope’s head dropped forward and startled her awake, the exhausted thing looking bewildered and tired before she deeply sighed and took another sip from the warm milk, bordering closely on dozing off again. 

No, he couldn’t possibly leave if Joris sent the woman here for protection. He had to remain and hold down the fort, look after her in case anything were to happen. She was in pain, correct? Recently healed? Kerubim nodded to himself before he slipped out of his chair and wandered into the kitchen to search the cupboards for anything which could help ease any pain the Eliatrope might have.

Alys slowly blinked before her blurry vision focused and she gazed upon a ball of pink with large brown eyes which sleepily stared back at her, the sight of the flea making her faintly smile. She rose the mug she held to make some room for Pupuce, the flea eager to make herself cozy in the Eliatrope’s lap after Kerubim kept disturbing her nap. She padded in a few circles before she rolled around and wiggled her tiny legs to find a good spot in the folds of the grey dress, soon enough nuzzling away to continue her nap.

Her smile remained after she watched the flea get comfortable in her lap before she turned her gaze towards the nearest window, the smile fading as the seconds crept by and her thoughts became heavier. 

What was happening out there? Did anything change after she was forced to leave? Did the situation grow worse or better? Was Joris alright? And Atcham, the king, everyone else… Were they safe? 

The rummaging in the kitchen distracted her enough to not get lost in ponders she didn’t have an answer to, her worries simmering in the back of her mind. She was so tired; she spent every ounce of energy she had left in getting herself to the bazaar as fast as she could. Now that she was here, safe and sound in the comfort and familiarity of Joris’ home, she could feel exhaustion overtake her. And the aching. Her tired muscles and healed body were protesting…

She cringed at the mental image and sounds of when the sword skewered her, the unwanted recalling making her feel sick. She rested the edge of the mug against her lips to take in the soothing warmth of the drink, her eyes clenched shut until the shuffling of slippered feet reached her through the horrific but fresh memory.

Kerubim stood before her with a worried smile, a small bottle resting in his paws. “How about some painkiller which will help you sleep better, hm?” he asked after he offered the bottle to her,” just a few droplets in your tea should suffice.”

“I shouldn’t sleep…”

“You should sleep,” he corrected her,” look at yourself, you can barely keep your eyes open. A little cat nap won’t be the end of the world, trust me. I’ll wake you if anything needs your attention but until then, you should rest up. The quicker you feel better, the better we can help out, right?”

“Right…” she whispered a little reluctantly before she eyed the small opened bottle he continued to hold out. She suppressed a sigh before she took it from him and carefully applied the small dose of the potion to her tea, knowing Kerubim was right. She should listen to him, just like she listened to Atcham… but without any punching. 

Kerubim looked pleased enough after he corked the returned bottle and watched her drink the medicated tea, knowing it won’t be long before she was out like a light. It appears his own cat nap is over for the time being. Perhaps a solo card game will keep him alert and awake. And if the cards don’t do the trick, maybe his worries might.

Perhaps he should drag his armor out of storage instead… just in case?

He looked thoughtful as he thought it over before he blindly took the mug from Alys when she wanted to place it on the low table before the sofa and was reaching for it, doing it for her instead. “Take it easy now, my dear. Rest up,” he said as he smiled for her,” I have a few things to attend to but Pupuce and Luis will keep you company. I won’t be long though.” 

She nodded to show she understood before she crossed her arms over the sofa’s armrest and rested her head on them, looking worried but she wasn’t trying to question Kerubim or come up with excuses to avoid feeling guilty about needing to rest. She would do so in silence before sleep takes hold.

The Ecaflip didn’t linger too long after Alys made herself comfortable on the sofa and was about ready to doze off, making his way downstairs to the basement. Preparations needed to be made. Certain things needed to remain hidden while other things needed to be brought to light, like his old armor. Gods, he hadn’t worn it in years… and he rather not wear it again if it were up to him. But it wasn’t, such was the truth of things. If these followers of Menalt show up on his doorstep, a fight is definitely inevitable. But he’ll put up a fight, most certainly… If his old bones allow it. He should have listened to Atcham’s constant whining to keep up with training. Too late now. Would a few stretches suffice?

He chuckled at his own jokes as he entered the hidden basement, silence soon returning to the bazaar to allow sleep to wash over those who are in need of it.

**To be continued.**


	14. Chaotic Boogaloo

 

The sun wasn’t showing itself yet but that didn’t stop the owner of a small cafe from sweeping their tiny porch. It was soon time to start baking and open the doors to the early local patrons for their breakfast, mostly dockworkers and merchants who had an early start in the city of Bonta. The sky gradually grew lighter while the bristles of the broom scraped across the stone, making the thin shrouds of morning fog swirl. 

The tune the owner hummed to herself was quiet but didn’t waver when she mindlessly peered down the narrow street and continued to sweep, staring into the fog with thoughts about what was baking in the oven. She could smell it and it made her hungry but pleased. This was going to be another fine morning at the cafe with content bellies and kind faces.

She smiled at herself before her curiosity was piqued by the sounds of footsteps from down the foggy street. She wouldn’t have been so curious if it was one or two pairs of feet trodding along the cobblestones but the sounds, although silent, began to swell in numbers. A large group of people was passing through. The realization slowed her sweeping as she squinted her eyes to make out any shapes in the fog and the dim light of dusk before the grip on her broom tightened at the sight of the people marching through the fog.

It was a slow rippling stream of blinding white and silver which came her way, tabards and cloaks flowing around the people who walked with a purpose. The cafe owner would have been mesmerized by the sight if it weren’t for the drawn armaments some carried, the sharp steel glinting in the faint glow of lit lanterns and lamp posts. These were no Bontarian soldiers, the looks upon their faces hungry for something different than the pastries and breakfast she offered. Not liking the feeling of dread which accompanied the approaching march, she hurried inside to close the door, soon locking it while making herself small in the corner of the doorway, her eyes large as she dared to peek through the window with quivers of fright.

The large group of people carried on without pause, none showing any interest in the cafe or the lady they may have seen sweeping before she fled inside. They have somewhere to be before this part of the city gets riled up by chaos, a kind of chaos the one leading the group of crusaders was eager to spread and indulge in.

The attack on the palace was still ongoing, though smaller than anticipated. The ferocity lessened once the night crept over Bonta but the palace gates were under continuous assault, the shops and houses in the royal district raided. Any found Shushu items were transported elsewhere without much of a fuss, the Bontarian armed forces too occupied with keeping their king and civilians safe to worry about stolen demonic possessions. 

Calm remained for the time being in the rest of the massive city, as it had done throughout the night. News about the palace’s attack spread far too slowly among the common folk though surely soon the town criers will spread it like wildfire and those who slept peacefully through it all will gobble it up once the news reaches their ears. Until then, the undisturbed inhabitants continued to doze and the same went for the occupants of the peculiar bazaar which graces Bonta with its long-time presence.

Silence ruled in its small lounge, sleep having claimed every present soul. Alys quickly succumbed to her body’s pleas for rest after Kerubim allowed her to be comfortable in his home, the Eliatrope sleeping on the sofa with a content little Fleeflee held in her arms. It was pleasant, cozy and warm in the room, a stark contrast to what Alys endured these past few days. Any trouble or hints of darkness had been kept outside the Shushu possessed walls and locked windows and doors throughout the night and morning and it would have stayed that way if it weren’t for someone cheating.

She didn’t wake instantly, nobody in the bazaar did. The sounds were too quiet to alert anyone and the shimmering glow of an open portal not bright enough to stir someone’s slumber. It wasn’t until one of the old floorboards creaked with a pitched whine that Alys lost her battle against waking up and she unwillingly opened one of her eyes, uncertain of what woke her.

The glint of silver close to her face was like a bucket filled with cold water getting dunked over her, the sight of six people dressed in white surrounding the sofa relentlessly sobering her. She stared wide-eyed at the drawn swords which nearly pinched her neck like a deadly necklace made of sharp silver blades, her hold on the still sleeping Pupuce tightening as she pressed the small creature protectively against her bosom. 

The White Cloaks of Virtue. They found her, but how?

Alys held her breath with a racing heart while her mind tried to make sense of things, wanting to ask questions but she knew she was in a bad position and surely wouldn’t get any answers. Not from this lot… She held Pupuce more firmly when the pudgy creature started growling after the unintentional squeezing woke her and she bared her teeth, her six little legs squirming and flailing in an attempt to get free and attack the intruders like the watch flea she is. 

Pupuce’s growling and Alys’ quick thinking ground to a quick stop when one of the surrounding crusaders suddenly disappeared into the floor with a startled cry, the hole he fell into quickly sealing up. The other crusaders jumped aside or leaned away in startle and confusion after one of their companions literally got swallowed up by the wooden planks they stood on, intently staring at where the hole was. A trap door of some kind? 

A yelp of pain following a loud crack and creaking of wood was the answer to the silent question, all eyes shooting towards a stumbling crusader looking like he had drunk too much as he swayed in his steps while clutching his face. His words were slurred and muffled until he took his hands away and revealed a bleeding broken nose, soon swearing like a sailor before he aggressively pointed towards the wall he had stood by. “ _Somethi_ \--!”

He didn’t get to finish his warning as the White Cloak which had disappeared into the floor suddenly reappeared from an opening in the wall with a scream of terror, instantly knocking the hurt crusader off his feet as he slammed into him with full force. Both the men ended up on the floor before a chuckle rippled through the room, the menacing sound and unexplainable happenings causing the White Cloaks to break their circular formation around the sofa.

An eerie silence followed the chuckle, the nerves high during the seconds of still tension until all hell broke loose inside the lounge as the walls, floor and ceiling came to life.

“Luis!” Alys sounded relieved and ecstatic as the crusaders scattered to avoid any opening holes or swinging wall and floorboards, the sudden racket deafening but to her, it was the sweetest possible sound at this very moment.

“On your feet, missy!”

It was chaos in the small room but it was one Alys jumped into without hesitation to defend herself and expel the intruders after Luis told her to get up. She climbed to a standing on the sofa and focused her Wakfu to her palms after Pupuce jumped out of her hands to bite the nearest crusader, the man dressed in white squealing in pain and fright at the angry oversized flea biting into his swelling nose. 

There was still fatigue present inside her body but the rest and painkillers Kerubim had given her the night before had done a good part in the mending process. The spot where the sword had pierced through her was sore and she felt a little sick in her stomach but she was able to move freely and take a stance against these people dressed in white and silver. She couldn’t help but worry after she gained a good vantage point of the room, not seeing or hearing Kerubim.

Was he alright? Were the White Cloaks in other parts of the bazaar? Everything was so noisy, it was difficult to figure out the status of the rest of the building. The wooden panels and planks within the lounge slammed open and shut or whacked anyone in the butt, gut or face. Sharp steel knocked and hacked into the floor and furniture. Pottery shattered and cushions and curtains tore. The crusaders shouted and talked loudly while trying to dodge and fight back against the Shushu possessed house. It was a loud mess.

Alys shoved a White Cloak away from her with her foot to make him trip backward over the coffee table before she tore a Zaap open near the ceiling and caught another crusader Luis sent across the room, directing him outside with a second portal to remove him from the premises. 

One out, five more to go… No, wait, eight more to go? That wasn’t right. She quickly counted the present faces as she sealed her Zaap and climbed over the backrest of the sofa to avoid a pair of grabbing hands, noticing to her dismay that there were more crusaders than before. Where were they coming from?

She ducked and cringed when Luis bent a few floorboards down to catapult the White Cloak which tried to grab her up and away, the guy flying into the wall behind her. That must hurt… It seems that Luis’ boasting about being able to handle burglars was pretty on point but the room was starting to get a little too crowded, even for the Shushu.

A long high pitched shriek sounding like a lit firework rocket made Alys look up before catching sight of Pupuce after the flea was kicked away during her biting rampage, the poor thing shooting across the room like a pink Gobbowl ball. “Pupuce!” Alys gasped as she threw herself forward and over the backrest of the sofa with stretched out arms to try and catch Joris’ beloved pet, the Eliatrope ending up in an awkward position across the sofa. “Good girl, I’ve got you,” she shushed after she managed to catch the flea but a few inches above the floor, a deep sigh of relief escaping her. 

Her relief turned ice cold when she was once more surrounded by a few White Cloaks while she held a stunned Pupuce cupped in her hands and lay partially over the backrest and seating cushions of the sofa, the turmoil continuing around them without pause. She gave the armed and annoyed looking crusaders a feigned smile filled with nerves and was about to say something to them when she got interrupted by the sofa suddenly dropping into a black abyss without warning.

“Down you go,” Luis’ voice echoed through the darkness which engulfed Alys and Pupuce after he removed the floor underneath the sofa and caused it to drop, the pitch black lasting for but a second before the light returned and the sofa came crashing down from the ceiling into the bazaar’s shop area.

Alys’ scream got cut off by the impact of the crash, though she was miraculously unharmed thanks the cushions softening the rough landing. The same couldn’t be said for the poor sofa as its stumpy legs were broken off and the bottom had snapped in two… and they weren’t the only things that broke. The groans of the three White Cloaks stuck underneath the sofa said enough. 

Alys blew some of her short hair out of her face while she lay perplexed and dizzy on the disorganized sofa cushions with a frozen Pupuce still cupped in her hands, not daring to move at first until the glint of gold amidst silver and white snapped her out of her daze. She stared at the feline clad in golden armor twirling around two clunky and large nunchucks as if they were an extension of his short arms, keeping a few more White Cloaks at bay though he didn’t advance as he looked Alys’ way with big yellow eyes.

Is that… Kerubim? It is! Goddess, she hardly recognized him. Whatever was he wearing?

They stared at each other as the random appearance of the sofa had startled Kerubim and his opponents before Alys stammered sheepishly while remaining unmoving on the broken piece of furniture,” m-morning, Mister Crepin.”

“Oh Alys, thank Ecaflip you are okay,” Kerubim huffed while one of his nunchucks kept spinning like an improvised shield and ward against the crusaders, the old cat having yet to go on the offensive,” I tried to get to you but these scoundrels are blocking the stairs.” He straightened up after Alys scrambled off the sofa and joined him, their backs turned to each other to keep tabs on every hostile soul present. 

“They swarmed the lounge. There were six of them at first but more kept coming, somehow. I don’t know where they are coming from but I think their increasing numbers are starting to overwhelm Luis. He’s fighting back upstairs.”

Kerubim’s brows furrowed in thought. “They didn’t come from downstairs, that much is certain. The door and windows are locked. Luis!” He called for the Shushu and perked his ears to listen to the noises from upstairs before he followed it up with,” did they force an entry upstairs?”

It took a moment for Luis to respond, the delay concerning. “No, they are sneaking in from all over the place,” his voice sounded strained,” I can’t pinpoint them, it’s like they are dropping in from thin air. They are even on my roof!”

The Eliatrope and Ecaflip exchanged a worried glance before Kerubim muttered,” it seems they came for him after all and something tells me they won’t leave until they got him… We have to save him.”

It was up to them, wasn’t it? Joris and Atcham’s absence from the shop was the frightening truth that the situation at the palace hadn’t changed and perhaps got worse throughout the night. The master of Bonta and his son were pinned down just like Kerubim, Luis, Pupuce, and Alys were. No help would come, not yet at least… and the fact the old Kerubim was wearing armor and armed made it clear that the situation was dire. Every second and every available helping hand counted.

“I’ll head to the roof and ward off any White Cloaks trying to get inside,” Alys said after she weighed all available options and tried to come up with a solution to help the Shushu, glaring at two of the crusaders circling around them,” if I can block their entry, it should take some pressure off you and Luis. Hopefully…”

“I like your plan, my dear, but I am not sure if you are up for it,” Kerubim grunted after he smacked the nunchuck he wasn’t twirling against the floor to warn one of the crusaders to stay back after they tried to get closer,” you are injured and--”

The soft knocking of a finger against the side of his helmet interrupted him before Alys leaned into his view and said unwavering,” I am fine.”

He hesitated to object. He wasn’t the youngest anymore… Though able to hide his weakness behind a brave face, anyone observant would notice that Kerubim’s arms were shaking, the nunchucks too heavy for his age-worn body. The armor was a good fit, but it was a magical antique which had seen its days of glory and showed hints of wear. It had been far too long since last he fought and, unlike the armor, he had grown rusty. To urge Alys to hang back and let him and Luis deal with the situation would be an awful idea, not to mention a little unfair.

“Go then,” he said after taking a deep breath to convince himself he made the right decision,” I’ll hold down the fort in here.”

She nodded in understanding, the tone in his voice betraying he was conflicted. Atcham was right… The Jurgen and Crepin family had a bad impression of her, claiming she is strong but never having seen any proof of it. All they’ve seen were the bloody outcomes of her battles, battles they weren’t a part of and she left injured or on the brink of death. This will be the first time they need to rely on each other while their lives were at stake and it was a little scary and uncertain with the previous experiences and impressions.

“Please be careful, and watch your back,” Alys pleaded after she lay one of her glowing hands on Kerubim’s shoulder, not wanting to leave his side but Luis needed the help. He chuckled under his breath before he mumbled something about hoping he wouldn’t crick his back instead, his attempt at joking falling flat with the severity of the situation. His wry smile made her stomach clench and her determination waver but she forced herself to go with a firm bite on the inside of her cheek and lower lip.

Startled gasps escaped the two White Cloaks she glared at earlier when the floor underneath them lit up with the familiar minty and cyan colors of Wakfu after she held up her hands towards them, the white vortex of the portal she summoned removing their footing. They helplessly dropped into the Zaap and were quickly followed by her before ending up outside and landing face first onto the cobblestones.

Her toes barely touched the ground after she exited her portal more gracefully than the two crusaders laying sprawled out in the street, swiftly jumping into another portal to transport herself to the bright green roof of Joris’ home. She soon ended up on top of the tall Shushu-possessed building and wasn’t alone as the first things she came face to face with were billowing white cloaks and drawn blades, the rising sun reflecting off the silver weapons and armor.

She expected to find White Cloaks but it still caught her by surprise to see them. They were equally surprised, the Eliatrope seemingly appearing out of nowhere in the unusual spot they had gathered. They were quick to turn on her once the surprise was shaken off but she was just as quick to act. 

“Get off him,” she said sternly as she wove her arms around and flicked her wrists to summon two portals before guiding them before her. The White Cloaks readied themselves for what may come as they gripped their weapons with both hands and pressed their heels against the tiles to pounce at the Eliatrope, but the beam the Zaaps spewed forth after she merged them knocked them off like a set of bowling pins and sent them rolling down the sloped roof with nothing to hold onto.

Alys released a pant after hearing the thuds of the White Cloaks hitting the ground or the shop’s awning, suppressing a wince while trying not to think too hard about their fates. The drops shouldn’t be deadly but who knew… She pressed a hand against her lower back to soothe the aching before she carefully inched closer to the edge of the roof and peered down to make certain all she removed from the roof had survived, seeing a few people dressed in white rush over to their unfortunate comrades. They were moving and recovering from a rough landing, which was a relief in itself but it wasn’t reassuring. 

The bazaar was surrounded from what she could see from this high up, the foggy street filled with White Cloaks of Virtue. Still no sign of how they managed to get inside, however.

“Blondie, is that you?”

The voice which rose to the heavens caused a shiver to crawl up Alys’ spine before she looked to where it came from while many pairs of eyes turned to her, her location given away by the black-haired woman who was grinning broadly and stood with spread arms and a nodding head.

“I knew it! I told them you survived like the cockroach you are and lookie here! Our poor little widowed queen consort, in the flesh. This has to be my lucky day.”

 _Royale_.

A grimace washed over Alys when she easily recognized the Sacrier. Her presence made every ounce of courage she had sink into her stomach, not wanting to face her because she knew she had no chance against her. She had no choice in the matter, though, because Royale was already walking towards the bazaar with a far too eager look on her face. 

She said something inaudible to the White Cloaks she passed before they nodded or shrugged and stepped aside to let her advance alone, not following the Sacrier to let her deal with the Eliatrope alone. “Hey, Ghosty!” she suddenly called out, her head slightly turned to something or someone far behind her and hidden behind the rows of crusaders,” get me up there.”

It took a few seconds before a response came to Royale’s demand, the rift which tore open beside her highlighting the wicked expression she carried. She glanced up to Alys once the portal was fully open and reveled in the awestruck and perplex look which struck the Eliatrope at the sight of the Zaap. Royale’s grin couldn’t get any wider as she saluted Alys with two fingers before stepping into the anomaly and reappearing behind Alys on the roof.

Royale looked victorious after she stepped through the portal and was about to vocally rub it in Alys’ face when nausea hit her hard. She clasped a hand over her mouth to not throw up and rose a finger to show Alys to wait, her whole posture slumping a little as she tried to fight back the sickness she didn’t account for. 

Alys stared at her and the portal behind her, unable to make any sense of it. It wasn’t until the Zaap closed that she got a hold of herself, looking confused and distraught. “H-how did you--?”

“I made a new friend,” Royale cut in before letting out a guttural burp, hiccuped and mumbled as she rubbed her stomach,” ohh, sour… Now I get what everyone is complaining about after stepping through those things.” She finished the rubbing with a firm pat before she poised in her stance and slunk into an offensive position, the travel sickness not slowing her down even though it obviously lingered as it made her sway. “I should have known I would find you here. This Shushu thing is your boyfriend’s little love den, isn’t it?” she asked with a mean grin, half expecting to get a rise out of Alys by calling the master of Bonta her boyfriend but Alys’ eyes weren’t even on her. 

Instead, the Eliatrope was frantically searching the crowd below for the source of the portal Royale had used, sweat forming on the nape of her neck while her eyes were large and round like turquoise platters.

Could it be? Was there another Eliatrope out there and aiding these maniacs? Goddess, is this how the White Cloaks got inside the bazaar, with portals? That explains why Luis didn’t notice them until it was too late. An Eliatrope, though… That was impossible! Was it one of the children? That thought alone terrified her. Please don’t let it be any of the children.

Royale’s grin instantly flipped to an offended scowl after she had lost her grip on Alys’ attention, angrily snapping,” _hey_ , I am talking to you!”

“Who is down there?”

Her eyebrow and sneer twitched at the surprise of Alys’ rebuke and icy tone of voice, the Eliatrope glaring at her. This was not the first time she has seen her angry, for Royale had driven the Eliatrope to the point of frustration or anger before, but this was a different kind of flame she managed to lite in Alys from all the times before and Royale wasn’t sure if it was a good one. Not that it mattered. Teasing her about her dead husband, her close bond with Master Joris or the mystery behind the portals all worked well enough to get under her skin.

“Told you I made a new friend. Cuter than you, also more reliable. Bit feisty but does what they are told. They’re an upgrade in comparison to you.”

So it was an Eliatrope. Alys clutched her chest to not panic and think the worst, her worry for the Eliatrope’s identity and wellbeing flaring. It better not be one of the Emrubians… A child wouldn’t agree to help these people unless they are forced to. “You’re disgusting…”

“What, I haven’t done anything yet,” Royale smirked before she threatened with a grin,” but I sure will.” There was no break between her talking and moving forward, her run across the ridge of the roof a little wobbly but she was fast to close the distance between herself and Alys. Her black markings across her arms came to life and whipped the air before colliding with the shield Alys instinctively materialized, staining the solidified Wakfu with dark blood. 

No, she doesn’t have the time to go toe to toe with Royale. Luis was in trouble and the other Eliatrope-- She can’t get distracted by this crazy woman. There was too much at stake.

The tendrils of black blood kept battering against the shield, the available space on the green tiled roof too small to nimbly move about. Alys was already on the edge of the slope, her bare feet not having a good enough grip but she stood her ground against the assault. Still, the constant pressure made it impossible for Alys to find an opening, the Sacrier’s blood pinning her into a bad spot. “Nice dress,” Royale taunted,” grey though? I figured your traditional little ass would stick with black to mourn your precious husband’s departure from this world.”

“He didn’t deserve this.”

Royale sputtered a laugh at Alys’ strained words,” yes, he does! Come on and admit it, Blondie, you hated his guts; everyone did! But don’t cry… At least his death made you the queen of a place you despise _so_ much. Isn’t that just lovely? It suits you perfectly.”

Alys tilted her head down to look from under her eyebrows at the Sacrier, her image distorted through the bloodstained Wakfu. “I am no queen,” she made clear as she pushed against her shield to force Royale back or at least weaken the assault, wanting to claim a single second of respite so she could summon a Zaap and escape. It was proving to be difficult, the Sacrier far more superior in the offense. 

“ _That_ I can agree on.”

The sudden voice caught both women by surprise and forced them to look to where it came from, witnessing a woman clad in red leaping towards them from another rooftop nearby. The jump she made wasn’t far enough and it almost didn’t seem like she would make it when a miraculous gust of wind swirled beneath her. It wrapped around her feet and pushed her up and forward, the golden high heels of her boots soon touching the awning of the bazaar’s highest window.

“Timinne… You survived.” Alys sounded breathless, uncertain if she should be happy or worried to have the Huppermage join the fray. Whose side is she on? Certainly not Royale’s but Alys didn’t forget about Timinne’s dislike towards Eliatropes.

Royale looked disgruntled at the arrival of the Brakmarian Huppermage, not pleased to see her. “The Rose’s Thorns…” she said with distaste as she slinked back to greaten the distance between them, intently watching Timinne easily step onto the roof before she took a stance beside Alys,” you’re a long way from home, Lecreft. Here to lick your queen’s boot?”

Timinne tutted disappointedly. “Didn’t you hear her, filth?” she asked as she stepped before the Eliatrope and stretched a hand to call forth her Astral rapier, soon gripping the flickering hilt,” she isn’t a queen so you can stop using it as an excuse to have us spare your miserable life. It’s time to pay the piper for your insolence against Brakmar.”

The snort Royale released betrayed she was intimidated by Timinne but too stubbornly to retreat. She fled from Timinne before*, her will to survive stronger than pride back then but things had changed. She refused to run this time, not while she was close to a victory. She wants to win something for once in her life, just once. She wasn’t going to pay anything. This house held something Varden and Gard wanted and they were close to getting it. The Eliatrope wasn’t a problem, never was… but of course she gets saved again, and this time by a woman who had a reputation for being relentless.

“I don’t know how you found me, but I am glad you did,” Alys said quietly after Timinne rose her rapier to aim it at Royale, moving oddly gracious on top of the roof and with perfect balance,” it is good to see you.”

The red-lipped woman smirked at the Eliatrope’s honesty and glanced her way from the corner of her eye before saying with a small shrug,” likewise, ironically. You have your Bontarian friends to thank for my presence here… But details later. While I am pleased you aren’t my queen and my pact to act as your bodyguard is void, we now have a common enemy. I’ll handle this bitch--”

“ _You’re the bitch_!”

“You go rid these bastards of whatever is giving them a leg up in this fight,” Timinne continued after Royale cut in, unfazed by the Sacrier’s petty comeback,” it’s already bad enough to have you around… We don’t need another Eliatrope ruining things.”

She couldn’t disagree with her logic even if Timinne’s dislike towards Eliatropes was a little tiresome. Alys nodded to quietly agree as her shield dispersed and she turned around to look to the street below. The portals… they were still being used by the White Cloaks to get inside the bazaar which meant their creator was nearby. She turned her gaze towards a group of crusaders further down the street and quickly examined them before making a swan dive off the roof.

Royale’s haughty laughter followed her down before the Zaap she swiftly summoned and fell into cut it off, the following words not heard by the Eliatrope,” _of course_ you’re letting someone else fight your battles, as usual! You fricking coward-- _ah_!” A surprised sounding wince left her before she clasped her cheek and covered the thin cut from which blood started to well, a wild look forming in her eyes.

Timinne didn’t flex or lower her hand after she shot a small but sharp icicle at Royale, having but nicked the Sacrier’s cheek like a warning of what is to come. “You’re talking to the wrong opponent, Sacrier,” she said with her usual cool demeanor,” I am right here.”

“Oh, you’re _so_ dead,” Royale growled with a twisted grin before she launched forward with a shrill battle cry, the markings across her arms coming back to life to form a pair of blood formed fists which follow after her. The fists hardly stood a chance against the heat of Timinne’s rapier when Royale sent them forward, the blood bubbling and sizzling after they were blocked by the astral blade. They popped like two water balloons and splattered across the green roof tiles before retreating back to Royale’s arms, the cocky smile Timinne gave her only enraging the Sacrier more.

Further down the street, the remaining White Cloaks of Virtue were watching the scene unfolding on the roof, rather intrigued by what was happening. They had their orders and those were to stay put and guard the one granting their comrades entry into the Shushu possessed house. They were armed but none of their weapons were drawn as they surrounded their prisoner, all eyes on the two women fighting on the roof.

They didn’t see her coming but then she came and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Alys appeared among them through a Zaap, grabbed their prisoner by the shoulders and retreated just as quickly, leaving the crusaders befuddled and with no chance to react to the kidnapping of their prisoner. All they could do was curse and frantically look around for any sign of them, unaware Alys had retreated into the safety of the bazaar.

Her hands shook when she carefully released the shoulders she had so firmly grabbed to yank whoever it was into her portal, the attic she brought them to quiet as nobody was there. The sounds of fighting crept into the open space from the hallway, the battle to save Luis still ongoing but if Alys guessed correctly, she just removed the White Cloaks’ only way of entering the bazaar. None of them should be able to come inside, not anymore at least.

Alys slowly covered her mouth as she gazed upon the one responsible for the portals the White Cloaks had used, not able to believe what she saw. Before her lay a young woman with short dark hair, perhaps in her late teen years, her skin pale but showing blue markings. She wore a hood similar to the ones Alys would wear at times even with the additional spaces which conceal her Wakfu wings. Goddess, this truly was an Eliatrope and she looked oddly familiar… And yet also not.

They stared at each other, both speechless and not daring to move until the baffled but tired looking girl broke the silence and whispered something which only turned Alys’ world further upside down. 

”Sis…”

**To be continued.**

*: See Traces, chapter 22.  



	15. Eye To Eye

 

The sounds of fighting carried on like a distant melody but the flow of time had stopped within the attic. Not even the rays of sunshine which ever so slowly crept across the ceiling and walls as the early morning sun rose could break the illusion that all and everything had frozen within the large open space.

Alys didn’t dare to blink or breathe as she sat across the one she had teleported away from the street, dumbfoundedly staring at the other Eliatrope who called her by a name which caused an explosion of confusion to overtake Alys.

Sis...? As in sister? It had to be. Adamaï calls her such and so does Yugo at times but they were the only ones who did until, well, now. Did she mistake her for someone else perhaps? Everything is rather chaotic after all. The girl withdrew a little after she whispered in what was best described as shocked surprise, her blue colored lips pressed firmly together while her round eyes were exceptionally large, looking nervous but slightly frustrated.

Did she ever gaze upon eyes this blue? She indeed did once upon a time, but surely not these. The girl’s blue sclera and eyes, dark hair and pale skin with runic markings catapulted the vivid images of Qilby to the front of her cranium, memories connected to the time he absorbed the Eliacube’s power and took selfish actions against this world and his people. Actions she tried to stop in vain.

This wasn’t the same, however, the feeling was different. The girl had an aura about her which felt familiar, like it was an aura Alys knew. But she had never seen this girl in her life, neither did she recognize her face. Perhaps from before her amnesia kicked in? No, that didn’t make any sense… How old was she? She looked young, perhaps in her mid or late teens but there was something about her that made Alys think twice about it. She wasn’t as young as she looked, that was for certain.

The confusion didn’t settle so easily, especially when reality pierced through it. Whoever this so-called Eliatrope was and wherever she came from wasn’t important. She was hurt and… fading away? 

Alys frowned at the faint glow the girl emitted, her appearance at times flickering and distorting like a disturbed candle flame. She looked exhausted, the frustrated grimace she carried hinting on pain. Was it the strange halo which wrapped around the girl’s waist and arms? What on Twelve was it? She squinted her eyes to make sense of the thing, carefully examining without touching it before realizing the halo was indeed harming the girl and restricted her movement.

“Goddess, what have they done to you?” she asked distraughtly and leaned closer while reaching for the halo,” don’t worry, I’ll get you free.”

The girl retracted like a caterpillar laying helplessly on the floor to keep Alys’ hands away from her, curling up ever so slightly before wildly shaking her head. “No, you have to listen to me and tell someone before I di--before you forget,” she pleaded desperately,” the Shushus, they--”

“I will,” Alys reassured her with a gentle hushing, still looking confused but most of all worried,” but we are getting you out of this shackle or whatever it is first.”

The blue lips quivered but no further objections followed, the girl swallowing back her words. She continued to look pensive and reluctant, even when Alys shuffled closer to examine the binding the White Cloaks of Virtue put on her.

It appeared to be some form of Wakfu from what Alys could tell and sense, the raw crackling power spinning fast around its axle like a bolt of lightning stuck in an eternal loop. There was something else spinning within the halo but it was going far too fast to make out in the blurriness. Can she touch it if it is Wakfu? It seemed risky but the chance she could was there with being an Eliatrope. There was only one way to find out and it was a way she tried with some hesitation.

She brought her a hand closer to the spinning streak of Wakfu, even if the girl slowly inched away in the belief that touching it would be stupid… and she was right to believe so. Alys’ fingers hardly touched the halo when it lashed out at her with but a small tendril of Wakfu, zapping her with a burning sensation which shot up her arm and drove into her head like a sudden headache. She instinctively retracted with a startled wince and cradled her tingling hand against her stomach while her head pounded along with the rhythmic beating of her heart, surprised at the Wakfu being hostile to one like her.

It was the Eliacube all over again.

As Alys rubbed her hand to try and soothe it, the pale skinned girl shook her head once more before she tried to sit up rather than lay on her side, struggling but managing. “There’s no time for this, damn it, you _have_ to listen to me,” she tried again before she met Alys’ worried gaze, having her attention. She shifted to sit on her legs and hunched over, the halo-like binding searing into her arms and waist and making her voice tremble,” the Whites are collecting the Shushus in a place they call Retribution’s Edge, somewhere near New Sufokia and the Crimson Claw isles. You need to tell someone and have them write it down before passing it on several times more. I don’t care how it is done, but the message needs to reach as many people as possible before I am gone. It is important.”

Her frustrated pleading got interrupted by the sudden rippling and flickering of her whole appearance, the scream she let out distorting along with it. She buckled forward to press her head against the floor to suppress and endure the excruciating pain which pulsed through her but Alys was quick to cushion her forehead with her hands before she pulled the girl closer, holding her tight but gently.

“I understand. Goddess, you are so brave…” she spoke softly while she stroked her head and back, the distorting lessening though she could feel the girl shake against her,” I will tell someone, I promise, but let me try to help you first. There has to be a way.”

There was no time to think about the Shushus and where the White Cloaks were taking them. Alys needed to get this girl free before it was too late. The strange distortions weren’t normal, the specter-like glow which surrounded her at times even more unnatural. 

“There isn’t one,” the bound girl murmured through clenched teeth, sounding like she was on the verge of crying but she stubbornly fought back the tears no matter that it made her voice crack,” I tried.”

If there was something Alys had learned through all of her hardships, it was the fact that there was always a way. Even in the darkest hour, there is a glimmer of light to be found, somewhere, somehow.

Now that she was closer, Alys took a second chance to inspect the Wakfu binding, this time by using her ability to sense Wakfu. The change in her vision didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary at first as she stared intently at the halo, until the curved outlines of a strange orb became visible. She wasn’t certain of the amount but there was at least one round object within the crackling Wakfu which shackled the girl, spinning so fast it was difficult to see with the naked eye.

“Do… Do we know each other?” she asked to distract and soothe the girl after taking a second to think about what she could do before she held aloft a hand and summoned her Wakfu to her palm and fingers, her gaze focused on the outlines of the orb she picked up on. 

The girl didn’t answer right away, the pause feeling heavy. “Not really.”

Not really wasn’t exactly a solid no, now was it? Alys would take the vague response and her being called Sis as an answer, having a feeling the truth wasn’t fully shared but then the timing wasn’t exactly right to pry further. “What is your name?” she asked instead, still stroking the girl’s back while she concentrated in the mysterious object within the binding. She counted to herself while holding her other hand perfectly still, waiting for the right moment to act.

“It doesn’t matter,” came the somber answer, one which made Alys take her eyes off the halo for but a split second to look at her with arched brows,” you’ll forget it anyway.” She didn’t need to say anything as the girl picked up on Alys’ quiet inquiry of why she believed she would forget her name. “Erzulie. It’s Erzulie…” she said in a short breath, sounding defeated. 

Alys nodded before she showed her a kind smile and said with the same kindness,” thank you. My name is Alys but something tells me you already knew that.” She saw and heard the girl stammer at her knowing words but other than a few indecipherable sounds, Erzulie didn’t say anything to deny or confirm it. “I know this is hard, Erzulie, but I need you to hold still,” Alys continued to not stray for too long on the matter of names and identities,” I may have figured out a way to remove this thing from you but you cannot move a muscle, alright?”

“Alright…”

That feigned brave face and tone of voice. If she didn’t look so different, Alys could have easily mistaken her for Yugo with a hint of Adamaï. It was a strangely amusing thought and one which felt a little too silly. 

She refocused on the halo through her Wakfu vision after waving away any kind of distractions, staring intently to catch sight of the blurry orb and to once again count. She needed to time this right even though she wasn’t certain if it would work. The seconds crept by until every fiber in her being jumped into action and she sliced through the spinning Wakfu with a small portal, severing its circular shape and disconnecting the trajectory of whatever the orb-like object was. 

The portal was open for less than a fraction of a second as she opened and closed it as fast as she possibly could to catch the sphere and remove it, the flash and sparks of the two Wakfu sources colliding lasting just as long. Alys turned her hand towards the window behind her to open the secondary Zaap outside and be rid of the thing she caught but she didn’t expect for it to bop a little in mid-air before floating over towards the closed window.

It was indeed a sphere, as she suspected, mint in color with a reflective surface and a single rune carved onto it. It moved as if it has a conscience and a purpose but she wasn’t certain if it was intelligent as it hit the glass, hovered for a moment before revving up a bit and then hitting the glass once more to get back inside… without much success. It continued to repeat its futile motions while Alys stared confused and dumbfounded at the thing before movement from the edge of her vision forced her to look away.

There was another sphere, to her surprise, and moved as if it was leering at her through its rune while hovering in front of her and Erzulie, sparks of Wakfu skipping across the surface as it appeared to be charging up. Realizing it was about to attack, Alys rose her hand to open a Zaap to sent it outside with the other sphere but someone else was quicker.

A clenched fist shot across her vision before it punched the sphere and sent it flying, the thing smashing into a few crates before it bounced across the floor, this time sparking from the little damage it sustained.

“I don’t think so, you piece of junk!” Erzulie snapped after she had jumped to her feet and uppercut the sphere across the room, no longer bound thanks to Alys’ attempt at breaking the strange but painful bindings. She stood panting and with her fists at the ready while she glared at the sphere which rolled a little disoriented before it slowly floated back up, the other sphere still bonking against the window. The girl looked incredibly vexed but not even her anger could keep her standing, her fatigue and injuries having the upper hand. She swayed before she slumped to her knees with a weakened groan and was caught by Alys, leaning against her with a hanging head while her body distorted with several flickers.

The sphere vibrated as it continued its charge up like it didn’t just get punched right in its rune though stopped as something interrupted it, again. A thick wooden pillar shot up from the floor underneath the sphere and rose fast to crush the runed orb against the ceiling, its shell shattering with a loud _pop_. A disgruntled sounding “ _nope_ ” could be heard before the pillar slowly retracted into the floor, the sphere nothing but a few sparking bits and pieces.

Its counterpart outside paused with repeatedly flying into the glass after the other sphere was destroyed, appearing to stare at the pieces strewn across the floor before it slowly hovered backward, turned around and flew away to flee the scene.

Nobody moved until Alys sighed a breath of relief and she held the girl tighter, her hands and eyes no longer glowing. “Oh, thank Gods…” she whispered while allowing her nerves to settle before she looked towards the open door and asked concerned,” are you alright, Luis?” 

The Shushu eye positioned in the door turned to her with a slow blink before his familiar voice grumbled,” fine, fine…” The earlier sounds from downstairs had grown silent, the rummage of fighting gone though there wasn’t a sign of peace anywhere as tension hung thick in the air.

“I am fine too,” Erzulie muttered after she shifted in Alys’ arms to no longer lean against her and brushed a hand across her face and into her short ink blue hair, a tired breath leaving her. She pushed her shoulders back to lose the fatigued look after becoming aware of her weakened state before she averted her gaze from Alys and mumbled under her breath,” thanks, and thanks… house?”

“Luis,” the Shushu introduced himself as he looked the stranger over while she forced herself to stand up before he asked Alys and met her gaze,” she your kid?”

“Oh, Goddess, no!” Alys quickly denied with held up hands and an awkward chuckle before doubt crept up on her and her embarrassed expression turned unsure,” at least I don’t think so…”

Erzulie left Alys hanging by not saying anything in response, looking thoughtful while she rubbed one of her arms where the strange spheres put the bindings on her. She stood a little unsteady as fatigue continued to reign within but she didn’t complain and neither did she fully accepted the support Alys offered her. “Silo might come back with reinforcements,” she eventually said to break the silence,” and I am running out of time. You have to pass on what I told you.”

The wonder as to who Silo was crossed her mind but Alys didn’t ask about it, far too concerned with Erzulie’s grim words. “Why are you running out of time, Erzulie? What is going to happen?”

“I am not exactly glitching for fun here!” Erzulie sassed after she spread her arms wide to angrily make Alys aware of her peculiar state, the distortion which followed proving her point. She bared her teeth in annoyance after she stopped flickering and tried to catch her breath before she dropped her arms, her defensive and prickled attitude turning defeated once more. “I really didn’t want us to meet like this, or ever,” she said quietly,” but I-I… I am dying, Alys, and there is no stopping it. When I am gone, things will be different and forgotten about. It’s why you _need_ to pass on my message before it’s too late.”

“What message?” Luis asked while Alys stood speechless as she was robbed of her voice by what Erzulie told her, the Shushu not fazed by the news the girl in his attic was dying and oddly spasming at times.

The dark-haired girl brightened up a little at Luis’ somewhat inconsiderate question before she grabbed for one of Alys’ hands and begged her,” tell him, _please_.”

Alys swallowed and grimaced, her lips parting to speak but she was unable to say anything. A dying girl she didn’t know but felt like family… She knew something was wrong with her but that she was dying? No… Goddess, she looked so young. Her grimace deepened as she reached for Erzulie’s face and carefully cupped her cheek, wondering if this was Varden’s fault. She was his prisoner after all, forced to aid him with the use of portals even though she was already too weak to do so. 

Erzulie’s round eyes widened and her pale and blue cheeks flushed when Alys cupped and caressed her cheek, looking embarrassed and yet a small smile tugged on one corner of her lips before she whispered and tilted her head down to hide her face,” I knew you do this sort of thing with him but… I didn’t think I wanted to experience it… until now.”

She could feel the warmth of her blush and while it was adorable in a way, the questions continuing to pile up for Alys. Who was Erzulie truly, where did she come from, who were Silo and ‘him’, was she an Eliatrope or something else? She would have asked them all if she didn’t make a promise and needed to worry about others. “Luis, where is Kerubim, is he hurt?”

“He’s downstairs with Pupuce. They’re both fine, just tired, stiff and old. Mostly old.”

“Can you tell him that The White Cloaks are taking the Shushus somewhere near New Sufokia? A place called… Retribution’s Edge?” She glanced to Erzulie to confirm if she remembered it correctly, only to find the girl beaming relieved at her now that the message was finally passed on. She smiled back before she looked more serious and cupped Erzulie’s other cheek to gently hold her and look her in the eye. “Go downstairs, find Kerubim and stay with him. You’ll be safe here if you stay inside.”

Erzulie blinked before uttering confused,” wait, what…?”

Alys clenched her eyes shut with a small groan as she cringed,” I can’t believe I am saying this but I need to help Timinne. Royale and the White Cloaks are still out there and she’s facing them alone. Saving you bought us some time but as long as the White Cloaks outside are trying to break into Luis, I cannot guarantee our safety and neither can I go to the palace to check on Joris.”

“I can guess what you’ll be checking out on that little tyke,” Luis teased with a mumble, the sharp glare Alys shot his way from the corner of her eyes silencing him but not before he snerked amusingly. The White Cloaks may have tried to raid and capture him but that didn’t bring down his spirits, it seems. Resilient, wasn’t he?

“So you're telling me to stay here and not help out while there are people in need?... Remind me how well telling Yugo the same thing works out for you.” A perplexed look washed over Alys after Erzulie brought up her little brother and king, her voice holding a lecturing tone as if to remind her of something. The rapid blinking of the ambassador’s eyes and confused shaking of her head made Erzulie shrug instead of explaining herself. “I’m just messing,” she said with another shrug, acting like she was covering up what she just said by changing the subject,” I’ll stay because hurt and dying, yada yada. You go help out there so you can… check out a little tyke?… Whatever rocks your boat, I guess.”

Glad to see she is able to make fun of things while she’s badly injured… Alys pulled a face before she glared one last time towards Luis’ eye as she heard him snicker though she was able to smile a little at it too. “Please make sure she stays, Luis,” she said before she opened a portal beside her,” I’ll be back as soon as I can, hopefully with Timinne.”

“Good luck, sis…”

After sending Yugo and Adamaï away and believing she wouldn’t see her family again after marrying Ernaldus, it felt good to be called such no matter that it was a peculiar girl who did it. Alys gratefully smiled at Erzulie before she stepped through the portal to aid Timinne, not witnessing the girl dropping onto the floor and wrapping her arms tightly around her waist to hug herself the moment the Zaap closed. 

“Damn you…” she whispered under her breath as she sat huddled on the floor, looking terrified but most of all angry while holding herself tightly as she shook heavily,” _Oropo_.” A shuddering breath left her before she suppressed a loud wince as she flickered and distorted worse than before, almost fading completely into nothingness but she was still there… Holding on for as long as she could. 

The roof was empty when Alys exited the Zaap, the two women gone from sight though there were visible traces of a fight left. The roof tiles were damaged or ripped off and splatters of blood tainted the bright green color of the wooden tiles an icky brown. A torn piece of dark red cloth swayed on the breeze from a corner of the roof, the remainders of Timinne’s cloak from what Alys could tell. 

She looked down to the street after hearing a few people shouting and talking loudly, finding a few White Cloaks crowding the bazaar’s porch to try and ram the door down. There were only four of them from what she could tell, a far less number than what she saw before she took Erzulie inside. Where were they?

The answer was a little gruesome. A few bodies lay further down the street in the direction of the nearby canal, their white garments stained red. The large group which assaulted Luis had fallen apart, presumably having fled or retreated after their temporary leader got in a fight and they were no longer able to easily enter the bazaar with their portal maker gone. Only the determined stayed behind to do as they were told, either trying to force entry into the bazaar or fighting back against city guards and civilians alike which came to check out the commotion.

Things weren’t just happening in the street either. As she looked for a sign of Timinne from the high vantage point of the roof, she could see plumes of smoke rising from the city, the distant palace shrouded by them. It was still under siege…

“Oh Goddess, Joris…” If it weren’t for Royale or Timinne, she would have made her way to the palace already. Not knowing how he was doing made her too conflicted and distracted, the worry making her ache inside. 

She should have stayed. 

Knowing thinking such was foolish, she tore her gaze away from the worrying view to continue her search for Timinne, not fully wanting to go find her but she owed it to the Huppermage. The roar of fire echoed across the rooftops when a swirl of flames rose up towards the sky which’s heat made the air ripple, the fire giving away Timinne’s location.

Alys didn’t hesitate and hurried over towards the fading fire by skipping through her portals to quickly traverse the rooftops, closing in on the canal. The streaming water was partially frozen, the bridge covered in a layer of spiky ice and glistening in the morning sun. An injured White Cloak sat against the frozen post while holding his injured arm, the direction he looked in giving away where Timinne was after no fire was to be seen.

Timinne and Royale were fighting at the edge of the small square the canal passed by before dropping into the city level below. Timinne had lost her cloak and golden pauldron, the suit she wore showing tears and wear. Royale’s baggy pants were also torn, the white fabrics stained with orange, red and brown blotches. Both showed signs of injury but nothing severe enough to force a stop to the fight, though it did slow them down as they weren’t moving as fast as before.

The usual talkative Royale was eerily silent and looked pensive while the coolheaded Timinne was expressing every strike she delivered with a loud grunt or growl, appearing to have the upper hand as she kept driving Royale into a corner. The Sacrier looked exhausted as she fought back against the Huppermage, her familiar grin of madness gone. Pain makes her stronger, which is true for every Sacrier, but it also made her numb, her body no longer able to keep up while her bloodlust kept pushing her forward. Timinne was an opponent she underestimated, the Huppermage far too skilled and having earned her reputation and status in Brakmar.

The little focus that was left fell apart when Royale saw Alys running towards them, a hint of desperation shimmering through. Reinforcements have arrived and they were most definitely not for her. If that Eliatrope joined forces with Timinne, she was done for.

Royale’s elongated arms shrunk as the black blood retreated back into the markings present across her dark skin, her voice hoarse as she shouted at Alys while she sidestepped away from Timinne to bring some distance between them,” stay back, Blondie, or I’ll shove that stupid pin down your throat and smash your pretty face in!”

“You don’t have to do this, Royale!” Alys pleaded as she slowed down and gestured to the street behind her,” you’ve lost, your men have either fled or got apprehended by the Bontarian guard force. Please, there’s no need for more bloodshed. Surrender.”

The Sacrier ducked to avoid the swinging rapier as Timinne didn’t stand down, the astral weapon humming as it shot over her head. She scrambled to the edge of the canal before she wildly looked for a way out, the path behind Timinne blocked by the approaching Alys. There was nowhere to go other than up or down, the steep drop behind Royale far too high but maybe the canal below would soften her landing if she was to jump.

“You always get what you want so I won’t give you the satisfaction,” Royale snarled as she made up her mind and spun around to run for the very edge of the square to leap off it in a daring escape. She didn’t get far, however, the persistent Huppermage already having figured out what she was up to. 

Timinne rushed after Royale without a second thought before she formed a small whirlwind around her hand and flung it towards the Sacrier, the strong gust of wind sweeping her legs out from under her like a long whip made out of air. The sharp cussword Royale let out was cut off when she smacked onto the ground, though she didn’t stay down for long as she was desperate to get away.

Alys picked up the pace to catch up with Timinne after she made clear she wasn’t just going to let Royale quietly surrender and neither get away, fear gripping her as she witnessed Timinne lunge at the Sacrier with her astral rapier drawn. There was nowhere to go, no spare second to change her trajectory or to counter-attack; she was pinned. Royale knew this and it was visible in her wide blank eyes, the dismay which overtook her causing Alys to grab for Timinne in an attempt to stop her before it was too late.

“ _Timinne, no_!” 

Alys grabbed Timinne’s shoulders when the long astral blade pierced through Royale’s abdomen and she was lifted from the ground. Royale looked surprised at first, unable to register what happened until the heat of the blade seared further through her flesh and broke through the numbness, her uncertain laughter flowing into confused screaming.

Timinne didn’t look pleased as she was far too deep in her resentment towards the traitor but she didn’t dismiss her astral blade either. She lowered the magical rapier ever so slightly to bring Royale closer while ignoring Alys pulling and clawing at her. “For Brakmar,” she hissed spitefully through her teeth as she glared at Royale before relentlessly engulfing the skewered Sacrier in flames, the fire rapidly washing over her. 

The shrill shriek Royale let out was haunting and made Alys retract in horror, the flames not subsiding as Timinne coldbloodedly watched her burn. The sickening sight, smells and sounds forced Alys to cover her mouth and turn away, retching behind her hand while she tried not to hear the shrieking but it rang in her ears with no escape from it. 

It felt like an eternity before the screaming subsided, the silence which followed unnatural and stifling.

“She deserved a fate far worse than this,” Timinne could be heard saying as she dismissed her weapon and the remainders of a charred corpse fell to the ground with an unpleasant thud, the sound making Alys flinch and clasp her hand firmer over her mouth. It wasn’t until a splash sounded that the Eliatrope dared to look, watching Timinne scrape the sole and high heel of her boot off after she pushed Royale’s burnt corpse into the canal with not a shred of regard or care.

The women watched the current sweep the corpse away before it fell down the artificial waterfall the canal turned into, tumbling down towards the lower level of the city before what was left of Royale sunk and didn’t resurface. 

Neither said anything as they looked towards the edge and the cityscape in thought once the body was discarded off before Alys stammered after finally finding her voice,” h-how--how could you…?”

Timinne slightly turned her head to look at Alys from the corner of her eye before she slowly started walking towards her with pushed back shoulders and her head held high, looking collected no matter that she was injured and her garments were tattered from the fight. “We will never see eye to eye,” she said after she paused next to the Eliatrope, her golden eyes no longer on her as she looked ahead with a cool gaze,” but at least you can agree that I did the right thing and rid everyone of a pest.”

Could she agree? Alys felt herself tremble as she stared at the ground, the clicking of Timinne’s high heels against the pavement as she walked away not reaching her. Royale was given many chances, chances which she never used to prove there was something good in her. Whatever started her madness and what drove her insanity further? Jealousy, such a strong poison.

Alys can’t possibly agree with Timinne’s methods but, deep inside, she knew this was the inevitable outcome for Royale. Someone would have brought her down, one way or another. She just wished it hadn’t come to this, that Royale would one day see the error of her ways if only she had another chance to redeem herself. No more chances, though… it was over. What was done, was done. 

She clenched her stomach and shook her head, unable to make her peace with what happened. Just like Ernaldus didn’t deserve to die, so did Royale deserve something different than this gruesome death, even if Timinne believed otherwise. 

Goddess, she was right… they will never see eye to eye.

Her nausea refused to settle even after Alys looked back and watched Timinne take her leave, the ice which covered the bridge and canal already melting and creating puddles in the street. “W-wait,” Alys called out after the Huppermage,” where are you going?”

Timinne didn’t stop but she did slow down to glance back at Alys, silent for a moment before she continued to cross the bridge and moved with a purpose. “Back to the palace,” came her answer,” I have two brothers-in-law to deal with.”

**To be continued.**


End file.
